


An Honor

by bennybonny



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (but mostly its just talking lol), (since its sex pollen i had to have the nsfw - its the law), M/M, Sex Pollen, VERY background driftrod, a planet of alien lesbians, and both megs and min are too dang repressed, background simpatico, i wanted a shorter 'getting together' fic!!!!, to make any moves on their own, uhh canon divergent???? i guess???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-14 19:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennybonny/pseuds/bennybonny
Summary: As part of a diplomatic mission, Magnus drinks a strange beverage rather than offend his hosts. The effects uncover a tangled mess of hidden desires within him - and worse, threaten to bring them to the surface...Fortunately, Magnus has impeccable self-control. He can survive a couple of one on one, intimate, boring conversations with Megatron. Probably.Or maybe he's screwed.-just a little re-imagining of how minimus and megatron might have gotten together :)(there wasn't room for this in the slow-burn, but like, it was still a story i wanted to write lol)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brain: write another minimegs fic  
> me: but I already have-  
> brain: long, awkward conversations  
> me, with the word document already open:

Ultra Magnus was not anyone’s first choice for a diplomatic mission. His personality was altogether too stiff and inexpressive, not at all suited to charming entire alien civilizations. No. Magnus was a second choice, a reliable backup option.

The fact that he had been chosen at all for this diplomatic errand was due to the fact that Rodimus had been injured in a hover-boarding accident. To ensure Brainstorm did not accidentally blow up the Lost Light, Megatron was required to supervise the shifts on bridge. Which left Magnus to take a shuttle down to the planet below, while above, the Lost Light hung in orbit.

After one look at the mission schedule Rodimus had smiled, stolen Tailgate’s hoverboard, and run himself into the nearest wall. An entire weekend of boring presentations on economics and politics? It was little surprise to Magnus that Rodimus had ‘accidentally’ broken his leg rather than attend. His captain could be quite immature, at times.

Still, Magnus had been looking forward to the mission. If not for the fact that there was a compulsory festival-celebration scheduled at the end of his visit, it would have been heaven.

After a weekend of mind-numbing bureaucracy and presentations, it seemed his hosts had chosen to go completely insane. It was an _actual blowout party_. The mood shift had left Magnus stranded, lost and confused, alone in the middle of the milling organics.

Magnus was not, despite popular assumption, uncomfortable with parties. He quite enjoyed the company of others – however he preferred to enjoy it in a far more dignified and _safe_ way. Public indecency, gigantic sparklers, and over-intoxication did not seem to Magnus a particularly _safe_ combination. The fact that the aliens around him seemed to be having the time of their lives did not stop Magnus’ optics twitching with the effort of restraint. He was the guest of honor at this grand festival-celebration. He would not risk offending his hosts with a five hundred point lecture plan on ‘public health and safety guidelines’.

“Ah, there you are.” The alien ambassador he had spoken to the most during his stay approached him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, thank you.” Magnus lied carefully. He was leaving directly after the main announcement, anyway.

The alien flared out her translucent, sensitive wings for a glittering moment, and reshuffled them in a manner that Magnus had come to recognize as discomfort. Her head snapped around to check that the crowd on all sides was occupied.

“Look, Magnus.” She clasped two segmented hands together in front of her chest in mimicry of formal Cybertronian body language. “My wife means well, okay? She does. She wants you to be happy. _But don’t drink whatever she offers you_.”

Magnus double-checked their surroundings for suspicious activity. “Is it poisoned?”

“No, no. It won’t be at all unpleasant. The opposite, in fact…”

“What?” Magnus frowned. “She intends to drug me?”

“Not drug you. _Persuade_ you. It’s a bit of an old-fashioned thing, really, leftover from when virility was of rather more importance. But er. Not that you’ll find that aspect of it useful.” The alien leaned in. “I only thought you’d like to know what it does. Beforehand.”

She whispered the purpose of the drink. Magnus’ optics widened. But as an ambassador, he was not just one Cybertronian. He was the Lost Light. He was _all_ Cybertronians. And so Magnus very carefully kept a straight face, and tried not to think too hard about how the indecent behavior of the organics around him suddenly made excruciatingly clear sense.

“Oh.” Magnus managed to keep his voice level. “I see. Thank you for warning me. But if that’s the case, we both know it would be rude to refuse…”

“Yes.” The alien’s antenna dipped in sadness. “The queen would be quite disappointed, but I could fabricate an explanation. Perhaps an allergy…?”

“I am not allergic to… _that_.” Magnus coughed awkwardly. “But I thank you for the offer. It is most kind.”

She put a comforting appendage on Magnus’ arm, and in the interest of diplomacy, he allowed the contact. “It is fun. I can vouch for that.” The words poured out of the alien as if they had been waiting a long time to be free. She leaned in, as if sharing a scandalous secret. “But I feel that you might understand – fun doesn’t always have to be so _exiting_. Sometimes – I don’t know – I enjoy just dancing _slowly_ from time to time.”

“I understand.” Magnus said. “I am aware that there are some differences between our species, but excitement and happiness are most definitely not the normal state of Cybertronians. I, for one, have experienced f… f… ‘fun’ only about three or four dozen times in the past thousand years.”

“Really? That’s terrifying!” The alien jerked away from Magnus and chittered with unease, falling back on unconscious body-memory to rub her wings together uncomfortably. “But I suppose we are quite different… forgive my outburst. And – a partner is not necessary, if you’re worried about that.”

“No! I- I wasn’t.” Magnus lied. “No. That was nowhere near my thoughts.”

A larger organic – one of the queens – floated down from an upper level of the hall, to alight on a centre podium. Magnus’ smaller alien companion offered one of her arms and led him to a staircase around the back of the stage.

The queen’s voice rolled out and smothered the crowd with a booming speech. “We welcome the Cybertronian ambassador, who brings information about the concept of ‘currency’. We welcome Ultra Magnus, previously, the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, and currently, the third in command of the Lost Light…”

The ambassador alien ushered Magnus up alongside the queen-councilor. The queen gave his companion an adoring look, then turned to Magnus.

“The planet Lab Rador offers you a symbol of our welcome.”

The cup she offered was surprising in its normality. It was an ordinary energon glass – but the orange fizzing liquid inside it was definitely _not_ energon. Magnus could feel her watching him, wings shifting in nervous hope.

He accepted the glass with a small bow, and tossed it back before he could think better of it.

The entire hall erupted into cheers. The queen smiled.

Her wife – Magnus’ alien companion – accompanied him off the stage, and all the way back through the crowds, and even to the exit of the building.

“It’ll last about three days.” The alien said, sympathetically, and shrugged with all four shoulders. “If that helps.”

Magnus firmly didn’t think about what his future would entail for the next couple of cycles. “Thank you. You’ve been most kind.”

His companion nodded in farewell, and Magnus did the same, and he departed. Already he could feel his tanks fizzling, and the first few hesitant pings to his cooling fans. He walked a little faster.

His plan was simple: for the next three days he would retire to his rooms under some excuse or other, and – and here his processor skittered over the details – _deal_ with his situation. The idea of telling First Aid filled him with red-hot mortification. Perhaps Ten could be persuaded to fabricate an excuse for his absence…

Another series of pings begged Magnus to online his interfacing equipment. He broke into a run. But before that, he needed to get back to his shuttle, and his hab-suite.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Megatron surveyed the veritable mountain of heavy-duty data-pads on his desk. They were not all from the Lab Rador planet; Magnus had also added his own reports on to the towering stacks. Each report was filled out in extensive, tedious detail, and despite the fact that the third in command had no doubt enjoyed every second – it was still an incredible amount of work. Megatron was in awe of Magnus’ sheer dedication, and his desk creaked ominously under its weight.

Perhaps this was the reason Magnus had retired so completely to his quarters; overwork induced sleep deprivation.

Magnus had not left his hab-suite for an entire _day_ since his return. The popular explanation was sleep deprivation, but Rodimus had come up with a few ‘Drift-theories’ as he called them: the most ridiculous of these being that deep within the armor, Minimus had been replaced by one of the Rador organics.

Whenever he heard Rodimus speaking such utter nonsense, Megatron attempted to silence him with a glare. It was quite a good glare. He’d spent years working on it, and it had silenced even _Overlord_ on occasion. But Rodimus delighted in demonstrating his immunity – most often, with an infectious grin.

But the theories fuelled Megatron’s worry, and thus it was that the next cycle, Megatron found himself outside Magnus’ hab-suite door.

“Magnus.” Megatron knocked without receiving a reply. He had brought with him a number of the Rador data-pads, knowing Magnus would not let him in without a valid reason. “There are some issues in your reports I wish to discuss.”

The door considered this for a moment, then hissed open with a sigh of surrender. Magnus stood in the dark doorway like a monolith.

Magnus seemed very real in a way that the rest of the ship wasn’t. It was like finding a rock in the desert, Megatron felt. It wasn’t the same as finding an oasis, and at any rate, only a very kind liar would call Magnus ‘invigorating’. But a rock, a landmark, something stable to give a moment of shade and a brief reprieve from the shifting sand – yes, that was quite fitting.

“Could you not have sent me a memo?” Magnus said, eventually.

Megatron shook his head. “It is easier to discuss this in person.”

Magnus nodded in acknowledgment, and searched the floor paneling for imperfections, averting his gaze whenever Megatron attempted to make eye contact. The sullen bot looked quite un-kempt. Coolant shone on his armor, and now that Megatron was looking for it, covered his faceplates in a subtle sheen. Perhaps Magnus _was_ sick.

“I was about to have a shower.” Magnus forced out the words. “If you don’t mind waiting, you can do so either out here, or inside.”

Megatron chose to wait in Magnus’ hab-suite in one of Magnus’ two armchairs.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. Megatron shivered; the thermostat was evidently turned down as far as it would go. He also felt ill at ease being in Magnus’ room without the other bot present. The background hushing of the shower in Magnus’ adjacent wash-racks was an oddly intimate sound.

In an effort to maintain the appearance of relaxation, Megatron propped up his left elbow on the armrest, and supported his head on his loosely clenched fist. While he waited, his gaze drifted around the barren room. The desk was bare, his recharging station merely adequate. The only sign of life was a high shelf upon which rested a small ‘Minimus’ figurine, alongside countless data-pads.

Magnus stepped out of the wash-racks and sat opposite Megatron, a still-damp towel thrown over one shoulder. He shot a disapproving look at Megatron’s poor posture. Megatron sat up.

“Very well.” Magnus said, formally. “What did you wish to discuss?”

“The Lab Rador culture is based around joy, correct?” Megatron waited for Magnus to nod. “It am a little unclear on whether this is forced upon the populace, or merely encouraged.”

“It’s quite interesting.” Magnus visibly sat up straighter, pleased. Megatron recognized this particular enthusiasm of Magnus’: Rodimus had dubbed it ‘lecture-mode’, and avoided it whenever he could.

But Megatron sat back, and listened attentively.

He had taken care to memorize the main points of the data-pads beforehand; this meant he did not need to be continually preoccupied with his data-pad in order to follow along. He needed only to sit, and listen, and simply be there while Magnus explained.

Half an hour later, Magnus finished his mini-lecture. “…and so, in summary, I received the impression from my hosts that joy is actually their natural emotional state.”

“Noted. Thank you. But - really?” Megatron found the concept completely alien. “They do not experience other emotions?”

Magnus frowned. “Of course. From the room I stayed in during my week-long mission, I overheard many disagreements and fights – I assure you, they experience a wide range of negative emotions as well.”

“Overheard?” Megatron asked.

“Ah, well.” Magnus looked a little abashed. “’Eavesdrop’ is perhaps more accurate.”

“Why?”

“To… gather a general knowledge of the culture.”

Megatron knew Magnus. The other bot did not do _subterfuge_. And so when he lied, he did so with almost palpable guilt, as if the minor moral transgression would literally torment him for weeks afterwards. The ‘literally’ was not hyperbole. Hyperbole was another thing that Magnus did not do.

“Magnus.” Megatron fixed the other bot with a penetrating look.

Magnus stammered for a moment under Megatron’s stare, but then sighed. “I might have been feeling a… little lacking in company.” Magnus cleared his throat and fell back into lecture-mode. “At any rate, my hosts were quite unnerved when I mentioned how rarely I had experienced f… f… ‘fun’ in my past thousand years.”

While empathetic to Magnus’ loneliness, Megatron was unfamiliar with offering consolation. He sighed in relief at the subject change. “I assume it’s a two digit number?” The other bot nodded. “I have likewise had limited opportunity for such things, but I believe we are outliers. For example, I have no doubt that Rodimus has fun every day.”

“It is my personal belief that Rodimus makes it his mission to have fun every second of his existence.” Magnus recited it dully, as though the concept went so far beyond the boundaries of his comprehension that it had ceased to bother him.

“Even,” Megatron agreed. “When he is meant to be on-shift.”

Magnus and Megatron shared a momentary commiserating look. But then Magnus fidgeted, and fastened his optics somewhere down and to the left of his chair.

“Was that all you came here for?”

“Oh.” Megatron wrung his hands in his lap nervously. “I was also somewhat… worried. You have not been seen in public since your return.”

Magnus jerked his head up to stare steadily and intently at him. Megatron averted his head and deeply regretted the expression of sentiment. They had been having a productive conversation, and he’d spoiled it with his own personal weakness. Magnus still made no reply. Megatron offlined his optics rather than endure the other bots disapproval.

“I apologize.” Magnus said.

Megatron’s optics snapped open so fast the filaments almost burst.

“I should have anticipated that I would cause others to worry.” Magnus sounded dejected. He pulled the towel off his shoulder and neatly folded it. “I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

It seemed unthinkable to Megatron that Magnus would believe himself to be at fault. It was unthinkable, and unallowable. He sat forward in his chair.

“If I was distressed, it would have been because I value your wellbeing. There is no need to apologize.” Megatron hesitated. “Are you… alright?”

There was silence from Magnus’ corner for a long, long time, long enough to fill Megatron with doubt again. Why had he spoken? He had all but confessed that he _cared_ for the other bot.

When Magnus finally spoke, his voice was strained and hoarse. “In your situation, I would be much the same… as such, I admire your fortitude in expressing the question.”

Megatron gave the other bot his full and undivided attention. He had thought his open expression of worry to be a weakness. But if he had heard correctly, Magnus had just said he _admired_ Megatron for it…

“While I appreciate your concern, my problem is not dangerous in the slightest. But I must inform you that it _will_ prevent me from working for the duration of today and tomorrow.”

In his mind, Megatron reconsidered some of Rodimus’ ridiculous theories. Scraplets? Possession? Cosmic-rust? Unlikely. If it _had_ been threatening, Magnus would have gone to First Aid immediately upon his return. And the bot showed no signs of sleep-deprivation either, which was comforting.

But this meant it was an unconventional problem. And the more that he thought about it, the more Megatron began to suspect the other bot was hiding something _embarrassing_.

Encouraged by Magnus’ recent praise, Megatron bared his sentiments again. “Whatever it is, you do not have to face it alone.”

“Ha.” Magnus pronounced the sound without a trace of humor, and shook his head gloomily. “I appreciate the thought, but there is little you can do.”

Megatron did not push Magnus into opening up – he knew from personal experience how reluctant that made one to comply. Instead, he fell silent, and fixed him with a piercing stare.

After five minutes, the silence finally pulled words out of Magnus.

“…You don’t know what you’re offering.” Magnus said. He was unnaturally flushed, almost flustered. Heat rose of his frame to steam faintly in the chill air of the apartment, and his hands fluttered in his lap. Megatron had been right – Magnus _was_ embarrassed. But why?

“I am offering to listen.” Megatron said. “What’s wrong? If you wish to discuss it, I am here.”

Magnus’ frame completely locked up. If there had been a competition for ‘most rigid’ Magnus would have been disqualified on account of being confused with a statue. The bot sat as if carved from marble. Only the glow of his optics showed that he wasn’t dead.

“I can’t.” Magnus ground out. There was genuine fear in his blue optics. “I’d never be able to live it down.”

“I won’t tell a soul.” Megatron promised.

“I…” Magnus stammered wordless nothings and met Megatron’s gaze briefly. He seemed about to speak, but then weakly turned away. “There’s nothing to discuss. But if you truly wish to be of assistance, my emergency energon stockpile is running out. If you could bring some by, tomorrow, that would be extremely helpful.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Megatron stood up. “I will also bring my work on the Lab Rador reports. Your help would be appreciated in adapting the peace-making strategies of a good-humored civilization to our own, immensely paranoid post-war culture.”

“Indeed.” Magnus showed some signs of life at the prospect of another long, dry discussion. However, he did not get up to see Megatron to the door, but stayed seated with his hands pressed together in his lap. “Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flopping my arms around like a muppet* the minimegs tag..... hasn't got enough in it.......... it needs More............
> 
> also I should say that i haven't forgotten about my long fic!!! it's just that life stuff has come up, and i cant dedicate as much of my time to it any more. 
> 
> this fic is gonna be much smaller!! until i can continue the slow burn.... this will have to do ^^


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus only has to deal with his problem for one more day. That's it. One day, one conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh minimegs is beautiful... two old, jaded men rediscovering love in the way it was in youth - when every little thing was sweet and fantastic and meant so much...

The weighty thrum of the Lost Light engines starting up made the walls shake, and awoke Minimus. He had shed his Magnus armor in the night. It had grown too hot.

After a cold shower – which dulled the insistent pings of his interfacing equipment to something more manageable – Minimus sipped his last glass of energon. He swirled the glass to disperse the chilled little crystals that had formed overnight, and the little flecks caught the light and spun like tiny stars. It went down his throat like ice.

Refreshed by the cold, Minimus found himself able to deny the polite pings of his array easily. But the effect would not last long, and so to postpone the return of his arousal, Minimus sat at his desk and pulled out his matte-black poetry datapad. He needed _distraction_.

Minimus could scarcely believe that, yesterday, he had almost told Megatron of his… situation.

What was to blame? Had it been his solitude – had he simply been desperate for someone to know? But no, how ridiculous! In Minimus’ opinion, the best outcome was that nobody _ever_ find out about his condition.

His interface array pinged him again – not insisting, merely asking permission. Minimus denied it.

Maybe, Minimus pondered, he had felt compelled to share because of the way Megatron had looked at him. The ex-Decepticon was capable of looking at others with great intensity, and for most bots it was disconcerting; it was not a stare that invited casual conversation. Yet Minimus did not mind it. Megatron looked at him as though fully expecting Minimus to have something interesting to offer. It was… flattering. It did not help that – in a rugged, powerful kind of way – Minimus found the other bot quite handsome…

Minimus cut off the thought. He summoned an iron force of will, locked down the warmth that had been rising inside him, and pushed it hard out of his mind.

He was Ultra Magnus. He was the law, personified. He was not – Primus forbid – _charmed_ by the ex-Decepticon.

His interface array disagreed. It pinged him shyly, softly, as if saying ‘ _this is only a suggestion, but_ ’. Minimus denied it and folded one leg over the other.

The poetry was not quite distracting enough. Minimus sent an electronic request to his hab-suite console, hoping that listening to the layered intricacies of classical Earth music would give him something else to focus on.

Perhaps the truth of it was this: that Megatron was a convincing bot. Words were his expertise: he knew them in wide variety and could organize them with profound excellence. It was therefore embarrassing that the bot had nearly convinced Minimus to open up about his problems – simply by offering to _listen_.

Well, Minimus would not be caught off guard again.

He jumped at a sudden knock at the door. Was that the hour already?

“Megatron.” Minimus greeted him politely, and was gratified when Megatron did not comment on his lack of armor. “Did you bring the Rador datapads?”

“And energon.” Megatron nodded. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” Minimus stepped aside, and the hab-suite door slid shut behind them. “Ah – forgive me – I’ll turn off the music.”

“I don’t mind it.” Megatron sat down in Minimus’ chair, and shivered visibly in the bitter, frigid room. “If we could raise the temperature, however, that would be most welcome.”

Personal anxiousness warred against Minimus’ conscience, for the colder he was, the easier it was to suppress the effects of the libidinous beverage. But how could he explain it? ‘ _I apologize, Megatron, but can we keep the air-conditioning on? I find myself rather improperly affected’_ – it sounded bad even in his head, which was proof that saying it out loud would not improve it much.

At any rate, according to the rules of hospitality ‘freezing a guest to death’ was rather frowned upon. Company demanded accommodation. Minimus reluctantly adjusted the thermostat and sat in the chair across from the other bot.

One of Minimus’ favorite refrains floated through the air between them. “You truly do not mind the music?” He asked, and examined the energon cubes Megatron had brought.

“Not at all.” Megatron half-smiled: a rare expression from the normally stoic bot. Minimus’ optics widened in mild surprise. “I’m more fond of the vocals rather than anything else, but I understand that lyric-based songs would be a distraction from our conversation.”

“I too, have a greater appreciation for vocal songs rather than instrumental ones.” Minimus was still a little dazzled by the expression. “Perhaps another time.”

“Yes.” Megatron readily agreed. “I entrust the musical selection to your judgment, as I believe you are more practically acquainted with such things.”

“Uh. Hm.” Minimus curled his fingers over his mouth as if to recapture the escaped sound. He had not meant to make a noise. Was Megatron referring to all the times he had accidentally encountered Minimus humming? No, that was far too vain.

“In that you have a greater music library than I.” Megatron amended hastily, as if reading Minimus’ mind. His tone softened. “Although you do – you do have a lovely voice.”

“Hhh? I. Um.” Minimus stumbled his way through the proper response to a compliment, all too aware that he was blushing. “Thank you.”

Heat purred in Minimus’ circuitry, kicked online by the lack of arctic temperatures, and on a shameful level awoken by the sound of Megatron’s voice, when he spoke in those low, husky tones – Minimus cut off the thought too late. His array hinted subtly that yes, it was still very much there, and requested permission to open. ‘ _This is only a suggestion_ ’ it said. Minimus denied it.

“So, where do we begin in translating the Lab Rador peace strategies for our own use?” Minimus said a little hoarsely, and sipped his energon.

Megatron was thankfully oblivious. “I have separated all those strategies which are applicable to both our cultures. These include inter-factional dependence, placing power in the hands of the people, and-” Megatron gave a wry smile. “Freedom being the right of all.”

Minimus narrowed his optics at the other bot. “The Rador never attempted peace through tyranny?”

“They did.” Megatron’s optics burned with shame, and he looked to the side to hide it. Still, Minimus did not miss the pain in his expression. “But it did not last.”

Immediately Minimus regretted wounding the other bot. His stressful predicament was no excuse. It had been pathetic, and vulgar – he had not thought himself so mean. He despised himself for his pettiness.

“Hm.” Making amends for his blunder would demand his full attention, and so Minimus activated a brute-force system block to shut down his interfacing protocols. It would buy him some time. “How did their civilization come to terms, then, afterwards?”

At Minimus’ words, the acute unhappiness in Megatron’s face softened around the edges. “The Rador attempted to build a better world through force, yes, but when their attempts to impose peace upon the planet were disastrous, they turned to ridiculously optimistic strategies.”

“What did they do?” Minimus asked. He already knew the answer, of course, complete with sub-sections and extensive footnotes. He only wanted to hear Megatron say it out loud.

“They chose to value life above everything else. They encouraged education, discussion, and openness in their governments. They put genuine effort towards global empathy.” Megatron straightened up in his seat, and gazed out somewhere beyond the small room. Vague hope glimmered in his optics. “But perhaps the Rador methods were only successful because they have an innate propensity for joy.”

“That helped, no doubt.” Minimus agreed. “But whether their strategies are applicable to our race or not depends on a vital thing…”

“…Whether, in spite of everything, we can believe the best of one another.” Megatron finished placidly, and smiled. “I did read your footnotes, you know.”

“Ah?” Minimus felt a little disoriented. “Ah. Well. It is ridiculously optimistic, I agree.”

“Do you think we can?”

“Hm?”

“Believe the best of one another.”

Megatron phrased it quite coolly, quite nonchalantly, but Minimus noticed he was gripping his data-pad hard enough to make the screen flicker. Minimus felt that he owed Megatron – _something_ , at least, some assurance, to atone for his earlier blunder. He wrapped the sentiment in layers of professionalism before voicing it.

“The twenty fourth article of the Autobot Code recommends that I, as an Autobot, try to believe the best of others.” Minimus said. “So yes, I do. I try.”

Megatron regarded him in silent rapture. He was looking at Minimus again – with that focused, piercing stare – as if Minimus’ opinion was something incredibly valuable. It pinned him to his seat.

The system block cracked. It was not a large crack – it was barely a gap, barely wide enough for a thread of processor coding to reach through – yet it was like a tiny rupture in a dam wall. Molten desire poured through it with enough force to drive a turbine, and electromagnetic charge flowed through his circuitry with overwhelming intensity.

Minimus’ only outward reaction was the faint grumble of his engine turning over. He thankfully managed to stop it from actually starting, but the sound made Megatron look at him oddly.

“Minimus… are you sure you’re alright?” Megatron asked.

“Fine.” Minimus said, despite the building humidity in his frame. He flushed, and as casually as possible, tried to hide it with a hand. “Merely a little restless.”

“You, Minimus?” Megatron frowned. “I thought you loved sitting still.”

“Yes. Restless.” Minimus was quite proud of the way he maintained a professional demeanor. His cooling fans didn’t turn on at all.

“I see.” Megatron eyed him with some concern, but thankfully the laws of etiquette prevented the other bot from enquiring further.

They were saved from an awkward silence by Minimus’ hab-suite console.

“ _Fly me to the moon_ ,” crooned the console speakers. “ _Let me play among the stars…_ ”

“I do apologize.” Minimus jerked up. “I believe we agreed we would save the vocal songs for another time, allow me to skip it.”

“No, no. Let it play.” Megatron insisted, but then hesitated. “The formal part of my visit has been completed, so before I leave, I wouldn’t mind a little distraction.”

“Distraction.” Minimus sat back down. “Very well. Yes. Yes, that is very astute, Megatron.”

The music captured Minimus’ attention wonderfully. When alone, he had often enjoyed this tune by dancing slowly around in the privacy of his quarters. But with Megatron there was no pressure to speak, and it was quite a comfortable stillness. For a moment, Minimus only thought about the sound – the words, the melody, how they interacted. For a moment, he forgot everything else.

Minimus thought to check how the other bot was experiencing the song, by sheer coincidence, at the same moment as Megatron glanced across. They locked optics accidentally. They both jerked away.

The air felt dense and stifling yet again, so Minimus finished off his energon. He was aware that drops of coolant were beading on the side of his temple. His head ached. Primus, it was hot!

“ _In other words, hold my hand… In other words, baby, kiss me…_ ”

Too late Minimus realized the flaw in his plan.

By allowing the music to capture his full attention he had opened himself up to its influence. The lyrics brought the thought of a kiss to the front of his mind, in vivid, terrible detail.

Immediately his plating felt too tight. The very air felt oppressive, and prickled at the seams of his armor. The entire time he had been fending off relentless, polite little requests from his interface array, but now each little ping came so quickly on the heels of the one before that it took all of Minimus’ control to deny them all.

‘ _This is only a suggestion, but’_ – Minimus denied it.

‘ _Only a suggestion’_ – he denied it again.

‘ _Only- only- only a-‘_

Minimus’ glass shattered in his grip.

“Minimus!”

The tinkle of glass was still echoing in Minimus’ audials when Megatron hastily crossed the room. He knelt, and where Minimus was still clutching the remains of his energon cube, Megatron plucked the sharp fragments from the unharmed metal of his palm.

“Are you alright?” Megatron said, anxiously. He held Minimus’ hand so tenderly, so carefully. “Do you have a fever? You’re burning up…”

“Mmmfine.” Minimus said, half lucid. Despite his humiliation, it was rather delightful to be the subject of such uncritical, reverent attention.

“Do you need to lie down? Should I fetch First Aid?”

Minimus shook his head and helplessly attempted to get his frame back under his command. Without the armor, he felt exposed, defenseless, _vulnerable_ , and Megatron…

Megatron was still holding his hand, and regarding him without a trace of contempt or mockery.

“ _You are all I long for_ ,” The console sang. “ _All I worship and adore…”_

And with that, Minimus barely had room in his head to think, let alone speak. All of his efforts were focused on remaining dignified. He only half-succeeded. He knew he was venting heavily to clear the humid air from his sweltering frame, he knew his face was flushed, and he knew his posture was completely lost. But he had not yet made any embarrassing noises, or opened his panels, and so he considered it a victory.

He made a low, feeble sound when Megatron let go. But the other bot murmured something soothing, and returned in a moment to pick Minimus up – how tenderly! Minimus bit back another whimper – and then carried him to the other armchair, away from the glass.

“In regards to the Lab Rador planet civilization,” Megatron said. “The queen-councilors never force joy upon anyone, but it is important to understand that from our cultural viewpoint, this might appear to be the case…”

Megatron had started up a dull, reassuring monotone. Minimus distantly recognized the points from his lecture, the day before. Megatron had actually remembered it? This astonishing fact was no help whatsoever to Minimus’ frayed self-discipline.

“…the reality is that they merely set out to _accommodate_ the emotion…”

Megatron kept talking, and Minimus recovered his frame little by little. As he did so, he realized Megatron had turned down the hab-suite temperature again. The cold air helped bring him back to himself.

“…in their traditions and peace-talks, assuming it to be inherent-”

“Oh good grief, how unprofessional.” Minimus interrupted, once he had enough control to be able to speak. “I apologize. On your way out, please…”

Minimus stalled over the words. He didn’t want Megatron to leave.

“Please take care to avoid the broken glass.” He finished, lamely.

Megatron knelt in front of him, at Minimus’ height. “Is this why you are unable to work?”

Up until that point, Minimus had thought he would never be able to face the embarrassment of telling someone else about his problems.

But now he had surpassed the horizon of mere embarrassment. He had gone so far beyond the realm of humiliation that he had come back around the other side. And so, it was with an odd serenity that Minimus longed to share everything with Megatron. He needed a clear perspective.

He didn’t want to bear it alone, anymore.

“…Yes.” Minimus admitted. “I have been compromised.”

“Compromised.” Megatron said, uncritically. “As in… your systems? Your frame?”

Minimus pulled a cloth from his sub-space and patted at the drops of coolant pooled in the hollows of his plating. “Yes. On the Lab Rador planet, I was offered a drink it would have been rude to refuse.”

“I see.” Megatron nodded. “And you accepted, rather than offend your hosts… yes, in your situation, I would have done the same. Which systems?”

Minimus found more vital things to do rather than answer Megatron’s question. He sent a command to the console, stopping the music completely. He preoccupied himself by wiping away the last of the coolant rolling down the edge of his face. He examined the extremely interesting, quite fascinating, really, stack of books on his shelf.

“Is it your fuel systems?” Megatron patiently suggested. Distressed, Minimus fidgeted in his seat and waited for Megatron to figure it out. The bot was too smart not to. “Your circuitry? Transformation cog?”

And then Megatron jolted as though he’d just been given an electric shock. His optics blew wide open.

“O-oh.”

As if pulled down by magnets, Megatron’s gaze drifted…

Minimus crossed his legs with forced nonchalance. Megatron snapped his head to the side so quickly his neck made an audible crack.

“Er.” Megatron said.

It was strangely reassuring, Minimus mused somewhere in the back of his chaotic processor, that after this there would be no professional consequences. Both he and Megatron were too responsible, too mature. They would ignore that anything had ever happened.

Megatron seemed to be doing his best to ignore the current situation. He was staring at the ceiling awkwardly, and while Minimus understood, he was strangely bruised by Megatron’s inadvertent disregard. The thought sank like a stone in his chest: perhaps the only reason Megatron had not yet left was due to a sense of polite duty. Or worse, pity.

Megatron visibly summoned courage from somewhere. “What can I do to help? Ice, chilled energon, towels – er – disinfectant wipes? Do you-“ Megatron’s voice broke. He tried again. “Do you require a partner?”

Minimus hid his face in his hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Right.”

Minimus shuffled, readjusting position. He was hyperaware of every point of contact on his plating; the friction of his thighs pressed modestly together, his hands on his face. Every little touch fed the irritable buzz under his circuitry – the burn of building charge with nowhere to go.

“Please.” Minimus pried his hands from his face and tangled them in his lap. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course.” Megatron said, quietly, with a half-smile. “I promised I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

Although he tried, Minimus could not help but smile back. It was a small thing - the corners of his mouth barely rose. But a faint tinge appeared in Megatron’s cheeks, and the tall grey bot turned his attention to the floor. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Minimus blindly stared out to the side, avoiding eye contact with Megatron, who was still kneeling in front of his seat.

“I do not require a partner.” Minimus blurted out. “Even if such a thing were necessary, I would never force another bot to endure – I would never – I am not – I am not one for casual, meaningless intimacy.”

“Neither. I empathize completely.” Megatron paused. “Surely, however, you must get lonely?”

Minimus searched Megatron’s face for any trace of ridicule or mockery, and found only seriousness there. “…Yes.” He admitted, and sighed at the release of tension in his chest. “Yes, of course. Of course I do. That isn’t to say I don’t treasure Ten, or Rodimus, or any of the others on this ship…”

“…But at the end of the day,” Megatron finished his sentence. “It would be nice to simply be around another person. An equal. Someone who knows you.”

“Yes exactly.” Minimus agreed fervently. “Someone who challenges you to be more.”

“Someone to support you.” Megatron said. His intense gaze was focused on Minimus as if in admiration. “Someone you love…”

Minimus’ vents stuttered. Something throbbed in his spark, a flame of empathy underneath a thin veneer of composure. Minimus was only able to maintain eye contact with Megatron for a short moment.

“…And who loves you in return.” Minimus finished the sentence and looked away. “Yes, that would be nice.”

Outside, the Lost Light drifted across a large, empty sector of space. It took a while. A small meteor, which had been travelling through space unaffected for thousands of years, bounced off the hull near the bridge and diverted course. Back in Minimus’ hab-suite, after exactly six minutes and twelve seconds Megatron cleared his throat awkwardly. After this, there was a further minute of silence. Minimus wished for the music again.

Megatron understood him. This fact was a surprise to Minimus – every single time, always a surprise.

But all their talk of loneliness and love: was Megatron merely saying what he knew Minimus wanted to hear? Or was it real, was the Autobot hinting at the possibility of something deeper between them…

“Er.” Megatron rested a hand on the arm of Minimus’ chair.

“Yes?” Minimus asked.

“Your main issue with your… situation…” Megatron spoke furtively, and quietly, as if fearing to be overheard. “Is the lack of meaningful intimacy?”

“Partly.” Minimus couldn’t help but check the hab-suite door was closed before he continued. “There is also the fact that any possible partner would only agree to assist out of obligation.”

Megatron opened his mouth as if to say something, but then bit his lip and turned aside. He nervously drummed his fingers on the metal armrest a moment, before forcibly stilling the motion. The other bot was quite handsomely flushed.

“As well as that, a… possible partner would worry about whether your judgment would be impaired by your situation.” Megatron addressed the floor. “Therefore influencing your agreement.”

Minimus blinked. He had not considered this.

“I had not considered that.” He admitted. “I was more concerned with offending others by asking too much of them.”

“Offending?” Megatron’s nose crinkled with troubled confusion. “Minimus – such a thing would be an honor for – for a potential partner.”

“Truly?” Minimus glanced at Megatron. Hopelessness had long made a home in him, so it was with some wariness that he considered Megatron’s words. “No, ridiculous. I would be – it. _It_ would be ridiculous.”

Megatron put a comforting hand on his knee. “It would be an honor.”

Minimus didn’t consider himself prudish. He wasn’t _overmodest_ – it was his opinion that whatever two consenting parties did in private was their own business, provided of course that they had taken all proper safety precautions beforehand. It was only in his personal life that Minimus was a little self-conscious – simply because hadn’t had anyone with whom he felt comfortable sharing such activities.

Megatron’s hand on his knee was not unpleasant. His circuits buzzed and fizzled with pointless energy, crackling and electric like bubbling engex. His cooling fans requested permission to turn on, and Minimus firmly denied them.

But he must have twitched, or something, because in the next instant Megatron had removed his hand. The lengths to which the other bot was going not to hurt him – it astonished Minimus. Every time, it astonished him.

“If it were being offered…” Megatron put out a hand, as if to reach for Minimus again, but then pulled it back. “Would you be open to some kind of _meaningful_ intimacy?”

Minimus had never wanted anything grand for his life. He had never entertained dreams of eloping dramatically with a stranger, nor of climatic marriage propositions, and he had never expected nor wanted to be politely drugged by an alien civilization. Instead he had achieved excellence in his profession as Ultra Magnus, Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord. He had made quite an impact as third in command of the Lost Light.

But all throughout that time he had never been anyone’s first option. He had gone through most of his life watching interesting things happen to everyone else, and now, lately, Minimus had begun to wonder at the possibility of something interesting happening for him alone.

“I would.” Minimus said. He only mouthed the words. If he made any sound, it was accidental.

But Megatron must have been watching his lips, for when he spoke the other bot jolted. Minimus raised his head to check Megatron’s expression – for humor, or mockery – and was briefly stunned at the sight of Megatron staring at him with avid wonder. It was too much. Minimus hung his head to hide the flush building up in his cheeks.

“Minimus.” Megatron said, quietly. He was trembling. This completely blew Minimus away. Had they not been so close, he would not have noticed.

“Mmm?” Minimus said, which to his embarrassment, was not a sentence. His tongue was heavy in his mouth.

“I appreciate your memos.” Megatron blurted, uncharacteristically clumsy in his words.

“I’m sorry?” Minimus said. The topic change pulled him up short. For a moment, he had thought they were experiencing some kind of tension. But clearly he had been mistaken. It had only been the alien effects on his frame – which was still overheating, still tingling – that had led him to assume…

“I appreciate your attention to detail.” Megatron continued. “Evacuation procedures, sprinkler systems, hallway lighting. You work so hard to keep everyone safe.”

“Ah?” Minimus couldn’t help but sink into the warmth of the praise. He felt a little helpless under Megatron’s attention, but the bot was not yet done.

“You have a wonderful voice. I love your passion for music, and dancing. Oh, Minimus, I want to dance with you.”

Minimus’ optics widened. _He_ had a wonderful voice? _Megatron_ was the public speaker; and for all that the ex-Decepticon had a voice like gravel, Minimus was utterly ashamed of the way he enjoyed it – low, rough, it sent a bleary shot of warmth through Minimus every time he heard it. To hear it now, fond and serious, it was all he could do not to buckle in his chair.

“I love your poetry. Your admiration means the _world_ to me because you do, truly, appreciate how difficult it can be to open up to others.” Megatron paused, and Minimus held his breath. “So you understand how hard this all is for me to say…”

“I do.” Minimus said. He almost felt dizzy. “How do you do it? I don’t – as Magnus, I… yes, I understand.”

“And,” Megatron said, softly, optics dim. “I don’t have words for how much that means to me.”

“Really, Megatron? Starting a sentence with a conjunction?” Minimus flinched, expecting this to have ruined the moment.

Megatron reached out and gently pressed a hand to Minimus’ jaw, and trailed it up to rest along the curve of Minimus’ face. His optics practically sparkled. Minimus leaned in to the contact before he could prevent the impulse. Megatron’s breath caught.

“I apologize for my error.” Megatron murmured. “I am quite distracted…”

“Oh.” Minimus said.

Megatron was still holding him – so gently, oh, so gently – and when had his cooling fans turned on? Minimus’ entire body whirred, flustered. Megatron was so close, even more irresistible than usual, and oh Primus what had he gotten himself into? It was not a question of wanting the other bot. Indeed, it was hard to imagine that anyone wouldn’t. It was only that Minimus was afraid of what Megatron would think of him if he gave in completely. Would he still respect him afterwards?

 _An honor_ , Megatron had said.

Minimus raised his hand to cover where Megatron was holding his cheek. He became absorbed by the sensation of warm metal, and helplessly, he closed his eyes.

Above him, there was a sudden rush of hot air. Megatron’s cooling fans thrummed loudly. The metal beneath Minimus’ hand faintly trembled.

The feeling was too perfect. Minimus didn’t want to move. Thankfully, neither did Megatron, and so they stayed that way for a while.

Only when an alarm beeped from somewhere on one of their frames did Minimus sigh and finally open his eyes.

Immediately he closed them again. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“What?” Megatron sounded concerned and confused. “Like what?”

“Like I’m…” Minimus sighed again. “I don’t know. When you look at me like that I can’t think straight…”

“Look at me.” Megatron said.

Against all his better instincts, Minimus obeyed. Megatron’s half-smile stunned him with its’ sweetness.

“I’m not here because I’m lonely.” Megatron said. “Or because I feel obligated, or for any other reason than that I want to be. I sincerely enjoy your company, Minimus Ambus. Of all the people on this ship, I’d rather spend my time with you.”

The way Megatron was looking at him was far too much for Minimus. Neither were the words. He knew his spark had stopped, and was stuttering for dear life in attempt to restart.

Megatron’s face – so close! – clouded over with worry. It was quite distressing. How could Minimus allow that expression to exist any longer? He leant a little closer to Megatron, and then a little more, and then they were close enough that Minimus could feel the heat coming off the other bot.

“I…” Minimus began.

An alarm beeped again.

“Is that important?” Minimus mumbled sullenly.

“My shift.” Megatron said. “Rodimus is still unable…”

“You should go.” Minimus said, and it hurt.

“Let go, and I will.”

Minimus was holding Megatron’s hand against his face. He didn’t want to let go. On some terrible instinct, he curved his face into it, and brushed his lips against the inside of Megatron’s wrist.

“Alright.” Minimus whispered, and let go. “Alright.”

Megatron’s hand shook. It trembled quite visibly, distressingly, and then he pulled away, stood up. At the door, Megatron stared back across the room with an expression of utter anguish.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. To talk.”

“Tomorrow.”

The door hissed closed, and Megatron was gone.

Minimus could still feel Megatron’s touch on his cheek. He pressed his hand to it absentmindedly.

It all felt almost like a dream, or as if he were on some other plane of existence. His spark was fluttering like a small, silent bird. The insistent pings of his interfacing equipment were weaker now, and tired. What did it matter, that his burning metal plating had begun to steam in the cool air? It was only a distraction. The arousal coiled in the pit of his abdomen was only a distraction.

Minimus got up, and like a clockwork automaton, began to mechanically clean up the shattered glass of his earlier accident. Half-images and snippets of the previous conversation drifted through his processor. Megatron, smiling. Holding his face, so delicately. Megatron speaking in that low, soft voice, the one he saved for poetry night and for their discussions. Had Minimus really kissed Megatron’s wrist? He could scarcely believe it of himself.

The day neared its end, and Minimus barely noticed as the polite requests from his interface array trailed away gradually, gradually, until they finally stopped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

At the end of his shift, Megatron stumbled back to his quarters and found First Aid waiting at the door.

The medic gave him a blank stare, and then smiled. “Megatron. Fancy meeting you here.”

Megatron glanced at his hab-suite door. “This is my room.”

“Fancy that.” First Aid said, pleasantly. “Look, there might be an outbreak of super-scraplets, so I’m doing checkups. I need you to come with me to the medibay.”

Megatron was tired after the events of the day. His meeting with Minimus that morning, his shift on the Lost Light bridge – he was so exhausted that his frame creaked with the effort of not collapsing. But still he sighed, and nodded. “Of course.”

“Wonderful.” First Aid folded his hands together formally in front of himself. “Oh, by the way, Ten needs a checkup too.”

Megatron was suddenly aware of the prescence of Ten behind him. It was a mystery how the heavy bot had managed to sneak up on him so quietly. Megatron was vaguely unnerved. But apart from tensing instinctively, he did not react.

“Ten.” Ten said, cheerfully, and brought up the rear on their way to the medibay.

The light of the scans tingled on Megatron’s plating, but he endured it. First Aid made notes and hummed at every stage of the tests, shooting Megatron an unreadable glance at every return of the results. He repeated them a couple of times too, even though the Lost Light did not really have the resources. Whatever he was testing for, Megatron did not think it was _scraplets_.

“Primus.” First Aid sighed once he had finished, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, I scanned your plating for Magnus’ frame spark-signature, and there’s nothing consequential. Same for your circuitry – there’s no post-overload singed wires whatsoever. You’re clean.”

Megatron gaped at the medic in indignation for a moment, completely dumbfounded. “What prompted this invasion of my privacy?”

First Aid impatiently paced the floor in front of Megatron’s examination berth. “When Magnus didn’t turn up for his post-planet checkup, I knew something was wrong. He’d have come to me if he were sick, thus it had to be something _unconventional_. So I went through those datapads he brought back from the mission…”

“Oh.” Megatron said, suddenly understanding.

“…And I found that in part of the welcoming ceremony on the Lab Rador planet, it is customary to have guests drink a subtle _aphrodisiac_.”

Megatron leant forward on the edge of the examination berth. “I swear on my spark, First Aid. I didn’t take advantage of him.”

“No, I know that _now_.” First Aid rubbed the back of his neck again. “I messaged him during your shift, to check. It was the first thing I did. But I just had to follow procedure, you know. I had to be sure.”

Megatron did not blame him. “It’s reassuring to see your support of our crewmembers. The Lost Light is in good hands.”

“Ten.” Ten agreed, from behind him. Megatron realised with some disconcertion that Ten had been hovering very close for every test. Yet the bot had not been tested for anything. Why was he there? It was a mystery.

“One last thing though.” First Aid’s visor narrowed in tired confusion. “There’s a higher intensity reading of Magnus’ spark-signature in just – just this little _spot_. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Megatron knew exactly what spot he meant.

He knew, because he’d been daydreaming about it for the entirety of his shift. It hadn’t felt quite real. Even the memory of Minimus closing his eyes and – _Primus_ – leaning in to press his lips to the inside Megatron’s wrist: it made his spark almost hurt in the sweetness of it. It was a delicate feeling, yet one so strong and overpowering that it made him want to cry. Had it all really happened? Megatron could scarcely believe it.

The ghost-touch of Minimus’ lips lingered on the inside of his wrist. With the thumb of his other hand, Megatron absentmindedly rubbed little circles over the point of contact.

“Yes, there.” First Aid pointed at it. “What’s that?”

“He… kissed me.” Megatron murmured. The words only felt real once he said them aloud. “He _kissed_ me.” He said, again, as it sunk in.

“ _Ten_?” Ten exclaimed, incredulously.

“First Aid.” Megatron turned to the bot in what he thought was a restrained manner. Yet still, something in his expression made the doctor step back. “Does the aphrodisiac affect – that is – did he mean it?”

First Aid stared at him blankly for a long time.

“You’ll have to ask him.” He said, finally. “Tomorrow. Any effects will have worn off by then, so at least you’ll get a lucid answer.”

“I see.” Megatron held onto his wrist like a good-luck charm. “Will that be all?”

“Yes…” First Aid was looking at him with subdued confusion. “Thank you for your co-operation.”

Halfway across the length of the sterilized room, Megatron was stopped by Ten. The mountainous bot loomed for a moment, backlit by the medibay fluorescent lights. Then, Ten put out a friendly palm.

“Ten.”

Megatron smiled, and reached out to shake it. “It was good to see you too Te- aaah. Ow. Quite a handshake you’ve got there…”

“Ten.” Ten agreed. He had fastened Megatron’s right hand in an industrial grip. He was not exerting any real pressure. But it was like being held in a vice – there was the definite sense that Ten could crumple Megatron’s hand at any moment, as easily as a ball of tinfoil in a hydraulic press.

“You’ve made your point.” Megatron managed. “And may I say how wonderful it is, ow, that you have Minimus’ best interests at heart.”

“Ten.” Ten let go cheerfully, and walked away.

“Megatron.” First Aid called out, and stopped him at the door. “Tell Minimus not to lock himself away next time, yes? It could have been dangerous.”

“I will. I understand.” Megatron paused. “Out of curiosity, what would you have done if… your suspicions had been correct?”

First Aid relaxed, and leant against the berth Megatron had recently vacated. He held his hands in front of his chest in a formal manner. The bot had no mouth, but despite this, still managed to smile pleasantly across the room at Megatron.

“Well, to start with.” First Aid narrowed his tired optics. “I’d have let Ten rip your fragging arm off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will they? won't they??? will minimus acknowledge his feelings without the help of an outside influence? will megatron get decimated by ten? will rodimus find out what magnus' 'situation' actually is????
> 
> find out..... in the next chapter.........


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy ^^

The Lost Light conference room was scarcely used.

In theory it was for group briefings. But stars would burn cold long before Rodimus gave a briefing in an _actual conference hall_.

Other groups, if they wanted to meet, usually went to Swerve’s. This was because the room had to be booked beforehand, and while the wait for a free time-slot was not very long at all, the room went unused for a very simple, very normal reason. Nobody could be _bothered_ to book it.

Except for the unofficial poetry club. This was because both Minimus and Megatron were members; of everyone on the Lost Light, they were the only two who might spare the effort to reserve the room.

“Megatron.” Minimus said, and the door slid shut behind him, cutting out the brief light of the hallway.

“Minimus.” Megatron nodded at his entrance. He was seated – not at the head of the long table, as was appropriate for the captain, but rather in the chair just adjacent to it. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Please.”

The poetry club was small, and the empty room was large, and so usually the group barely took up more than the tip of the table. Minimus walked down to the far end and sat down opposite Megatron. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were at poetry night: but just as if everyone but the two of them had gone home, and they had stayed behind. 

“Megatron.” Minimus greeted him. “Before we discuss anything, I must ensure – this is _not_ a professional visit?”

“Indeed not.” Megatron said. “I believe I was clear in my memo that it was a _personal_ invitation…”

“You were perfectly clear.”

"Good. Well." Megatron cleared his throat and readjusted himself in his chair. "I thought it would be better to meet someplace new, rather than forcing you to host me again."

"Very intelligent. I appreciate the sentiment." Minimus nodded formally. 

In the privacy of his room - after First Aid's call, after the effects had left his frame - Minimus had pondered Megatron’s invitation. All of his years of education and experience had told him not to go. Even now it was not too late, there was still hope for him yet. He could still call – the kiss – a blunder, an accident. He could still pass it off as a mistake made in the heat of the moment.

“It feels like…” Megatron began.

“Poetry night?”

“Exactly.”

But how hard it was.

Far deeper than the voices of reason, something whispered: give in! Little whispers, like softly falling snowflakes. Think only about him cupping your cheek. Think only about kissing him, softly, sweetly, in the way you have forgotten. Think about a thousand small meaningful gestures – like the way he reads your footnotes, or the way he knows the Autobot Code, or the way he replies to all of your memos.

For a moment, the whispers won.

“I’ve been thinking.” Minimus began, but then froze up. He couldn’t quite bring himself to continue.

Megatron leaned forward, and his metal chair gave a subtle creak. “About…?”

“The poetry club.” Minimus finished curtly.

“Oh. I see.” Megatron sighed heavily. He hung his helm a little, and sat back in his chair, as if disappointed - but also with a certain resignation. The bot did not seem surprised.

Minimus felt guilty, but wisdom said a relationship would be improper. To engage in such a thing now, without any outside effects – he would be sullying the memory of all the previous Ultra Magnus’. It would bring down Tyrest’s reputation – what was left of it – and more than that, it would disgrace the Ambus name. What would Dominus have thought to hear that Minimus had fallen for someone like Megatron?

The thought took a moment to catch up with him, and when it did, it was like an arrow in the back. Mentally, Minimus staggered.

Had he fallen – in _love_? Now that he had acknowledged the fact, however, it made unfortunate sense. Minimus could confess to himself that - in finishing each other’s sentences, and listening to music together - somewhere along the line, mere fondness had become something more. It had crept up on him gradually: evening after evening. 

“Er.” Megatron prompted. “When you said you had been thinking, I had assumed that was because you were intending to share your thoughts...”

“Oh. I apologize.” Minimus shook himself out of his reverie. “I’ve been thinking lately about how ridiculous it is that we have not yet formalized the club.”

“Yes.” Megatron drew himself up with an aching professionalism. “ Yes, I agree. We reserve this room the same time every week – if we were an official group, it would be far easier to book the space.”

“Yes. Official.” Minimus averted his gaze. There was a window taking up part of the ceiling and the wall, and he looked out onto slowly passing starfields. His reflection looked back at him in the glass.

Really, he looked so much like Dominus. It was merely a shallow reflection, however – where his brother had been charismatic and warm, Minimus was ill humored and withdrawn. But did he really want to spend the rest of his life comparing himself to Dominus?

All the little moments piled up in his mind.

 _Your admiration means the world to me_ , Megatron had said. _You do, truly, appreciate how difficult it can be to open up to others…_

Minimus stared at his reflection, and barely recognized the expression on his face. It never ceased to stun Minimus that Megatron knew him so well, and yet appreciated him so much. He gripped his hands together in his lap as if to ward against the deep, steady feeling. Was it perverse, that he felt so honored? No. No it was not.

“If-“ Minimus tried, and had to clear his throat. “If we are to make it official, I believe I have the necessary paperwork. We will also need Cyclonus and Nautica here to make a formal decision…”

“But we might as well make a start.” Megatron finished. “Thank you, yes. Good idea.”

Minimus pulled out the copy of the Autobot Code he carried with him wherever he went, and flipped through to the relevant section. He passed it across the table.

His hand shook.

Megatron pulled it close, nodded, and opened his mouth as if to speak – but then aborted the idea. The sight of him curled over the data-pad was quite a despondent picture. The other bot scrolled across the same two pages absently, and the angle hid his face from Minimus’ view.

“Er.” Megatron jolted upright. His optics flicked back and forth over the page as he reread it. “Minimus, I’m hesitant to speak up – but this is section fourteen; subsection three.”

“Really?” Minimus said, impassively. “I thought it was section twelve; subsection one of the Autobot Code, concerning the formation of social groups.”

“No.” Megatron looked from the datapad to Minimus, and then down again, almost dreamily. “No, this is section fourteen; subsection three.”

“ _Really_?” Minimus did his best to affect an air of surprise. Just in case Megatron hadn’t got it though, he sat up, and pointed hesitantly to the datapad. “That is, of course, the section that concerns-“

“Romantic relationships between crewmembers.” Megatron finished, and sat back in his chair, expression unreadable.

Minimus suddenly regretted everything. “Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry for the accident…”

“Accident? Paperwork?" Megatron looked incredulous. " _You_ , Minimus?”

Abashed, Minimus put out his hand for the datapad. “Well, if it is the incorrect section, simply give it to me and I’ll retrieve the correct one.”

Megatron clutched the data-pad to his chest.

Minimus faltered, hand still outstretched. Like actors without stage directions, they stayed in the tableau. What was appropriate conduct in such a delicate situation such as this? Minimus couldn’t say; Megatron seemed likewise stuck. The silence hung in the air so thick that it could have been broken into pieces. The universe froze, as if scared of being shattered.

With glacial slowness, Minimus sat back down in his chair.

“It is the correct form, then?” Megatron asked.

“Is it?” Minimus asked, hating himself for his vagueness, but not wanting to break what they already had with carelessly chosen words.

“I…” Megatron tried. He still had not let go of the data-pad. “If it were up to me, at least… yes. I would say this is the correct form. What would you say?”

The tension melted. Minimus let out a long breath. He was not the kind of bot to jump up and down in glee. But still, buried deep down in his spark, there was a small part of him singing. Minimus realized he had been clasping his hands in his lap hard enough to hear the metal creak, and relaxed them.

“Have you ever known me to make a mistake in regards to paperwork?” Minimus asked. He couldn’t quite keep down the smile.

Megatron smiled back at him warmly, as if Minimus’ prescence was a miracle in and of itself. “Never.”

While Megatron leant back over the data-pad to read it in earnest, the Lost Light coasted through a field of space debris.

The tiny little particles were too small to be called meteors. They burned up upon contact with the ship’s hull. But how this came together was that when a shower of them pattered against the conference room window, they fell away in little red, luminous sparks and were confused among the stars. It made a kind of fizzing, static sound, and cast a pink glow over the nearly empty conference room.

So this was how it happened. Minimus felt a little disappointed.

When he’d imagined romance, he hadn’t imagined it simply being _organized_. Of course, with his personality, it was hard to imagine it happening any other way – for all that he might have longed for a little more. Poetry might have been involved. A kiss, at least.

Minimus sighed as he received an alert on his comms. He picked up. “Yes?”

“It’s Whirl.”

Across the table, Megatron shot him a questioning look. Minimus put up a placating hand and returned to his comms. “What did he do?”

“No, I mean _I’m_ Whirl. It’s me. The person calling you. Whirl, the unvincible.”

Minimus sighed. “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t me!” Whirl said, with the innocence of the truly guilty. “Well, yeah, alright, I’m a _little_ to blame, but I didn’t think Brainstorm would actually take me _seriously_.”

Minimus listened for a little longer. He kept calm. He asked a lot of questions, most along the lines of ‘and what then?’ and ‘you didn’t, did you?’ until he had a clearer idea of the situation. And then he hung up, and told Megatron what had happened.

“Brainstorm and Perceptor did _what_ in the captains chair?” Megatron stood up so quickly he knocked his seat over. Minimus was charmed, when he stopped to correct it. “Please excuse me. I need to go sterilize the entire bridge.”

Megatron was halfway to the door before Minimus realized the other bot had run off with his personal copy of the Autobot Code.

“Ah, Megatron, a moment-“ Minimus caught him at the control panel for the door, before Megatron could open it. “You still have my data-pad.”

Megatron examined it in his hand as if surprised to see it there. “Ah, my apologies.” He offered it back to Minimus a little awkwardly. “Just one point of contention – in regards to paragraph four, I give my permission. And in regards to paragraph thirteen, forbidding displays of affection…”

“ _Public_ displays of affection.” Minimus clarified, as he took it. “In private is another matter.”

“Hm.” Megatron flushed pink, but it might have been the space-shower still continuing outside. Burning debris tinted the entire room with faint, rosy light.

“In regards to paragraph four.” Minimus cleared his throat. “I also give my permission.”

Megatron lowered his voice. “Do you, now?”

“I believe I was perfectly audible.” Minimus turned his head aside to watch the sparks scattering across the ceiling glass. 

His breath caught when he felt Megatron gently take him by the jaw. The other bot looked down at him, carefully, making sure Minimus was all right with it. The metal of his hand was as warm as Minimus remembered it. He allowed the contact, allowed Megatron to tilt his head back. Minimus hugged his data-pad for stability.

“Paragraph four states that one must have another bot’s permission before touching them.” Megatron said, quietly.

“Mmm.” Minimus said. The deep, steady feeling returned. It was lovely. It was confusing – terrifying – it overwhelmed him. He let it. “How did you describe it? Ah, yes – _meaningful intimacy_.”

“And you said you would be open to such a thing?” Megatron asked. He was still speaking at that low volume, so of course Minimus had to lean in a little to hear him better.

“I would.” Minimus offlined his optics, but he could still feel the ghost data from his optic filaments. He could still feel the pink light on his closed eyes from the window above.

“Minimus, I… is it all gone? You are not… distracted?” Megatron said, in a whisper. Minimus felt the breath of the words brush his lips, and shivered.

“It’s just me.” Minimus answered, hyperaware of how close the other bot was. “Nothing else.”

It was hard to say which of them leaned in first.

It wasn’t anything particularly mind-blowing. The universe didn’t stop. The planets didn’t halt in their orbit, the ground stayed solidly under Minimus feet. It was very, very nice, but not amazing.

It was the best kiss of his life.

Megatron was light and hesitant, at first. Unsure. The bot was evidently out of practice, but Minimus was no better, having had little to no experience in such things. The feather-light pressure increased slowly, and Minimus surrendered to something long and languid. He put his arms over Megatron’s shoulders to better hold himself up, and accidentally dropped the data-pad in the process.

But it wasn’t about the kiss itself, not really. It was about what it meant. This wasn’t Megatron the tyrant, the conqueror. This was the mech who’d sat with him evening after evening. This was Megatron, the Autobot, who understood him completely, to his core, and who liked being around him.

Megatron gave a surprised little hum. Minimus realized he was pouring all of his emotions into the kiss, and pulled away, ashamed of his fervor.

“Sorry, I-“

Megatron leant in again to recapture his mouth more passionately. The bot moved his hand to brace the back of Minimus’ helm, and Minimus’ optics went wide for a moment before he felt happiness rising like a bubble within him. It soothed his surprise. Minimus’ optics flickered offline as he gave the kiss his full attention.

_Of all the people on this ship, I’d rather spend my time with you…_

Not a second choice, not a backup option, but his _own person_. And Megatron, with all his discipline and philosophy and sheer intensity, seemed to _like_ that person. For the first time, Minimus felt a glimmer of hope: that in his future there was a different option to loneliness.

 _I sincerely enjoy your company, Minimus Ambus,_ Megatron had said.

It was an ache to draw away.

Minimus gasped for cooler air, his processor spinning. It was like surfacing from another plane of existence. Megatron was similarly out of breath, and staring down at Minimus again with awe. Minimus smiled softly up at the other bot. Megatron made a half-movement forward, as if repressing the desire to lean in again.

“For a moment there, I thought we were going to ignore that anything had happened.” Megatron gave a wobbly smile and shook his head. "I have never been more happy to be proven wrong."

Minimus’ spark gave an incredible pulse. How could he respond to that? He allowed himself a little smile, all too aware that he was probably flushed. He was trembling with the whir of his systems underneath his plating. No doubt Megatron could feel it too.

Megatron pulled away. “I have to go deal with the…”

“Situation. On bridge.” Minimus finished for him. “My sympathies.”

They stepped apart to a more respectable distance. Minimus picked up his data-pad from where it had fallen, and brushed it off. Megatron turned back to the control panel of the door, and it slid open with a hiss.

“Well.” Megatron said, solemnly. “Er…”

“I’ll see you later.” Minimus said.

“Yes.”

To avoid them walking away in the same direction Minimus took the longer way back to his room. His lips still tingled. It seemed to spread out until every part of his frame felt incredibly sensitive. He was still going over the moment in his mind – he could still barely believe it. Megatron had _kissed_ him. Properly.

He was so lost in thought that he forgot vital details about his environment, such as where the doorways were. He occasionally found that he was humming to himself, and that for some reason, more than a few passersby were giving him worried glances. Minimus walked into another wall and apologized to it.

“Ten?” A confused voice came from somewhere behind him.

“Ah.” Minimus looked up at the other bot. “Ten. Sorry for my absence these past few days. What have I missed?”

“Ten.” Ten patted Minimus’ shoulder, and fell into step beside him. “Ten.”

Ten walked with him around the ship while Minimus made sure that the pillars of order had not collapsed in his absence, and that chaos had not reigned. Bots in their path were not exactly over the moon about his return, Minimus noticed. But in his wake the crew did seem more at ease. More relaxed. 

Indeed, if Minimus had been forced to define it, it seemed as though everything was perfectly fine. The only issue was that occasionally Minimus would remember everything all over again, and would subsequently become a little distracted.

But it was a minor issue. Mostly, thanks to Ten, who was there to stop him when he tried to walk through solid metal walls.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The hardest part of the ‘incident’ wasn’t punishing the guilty parties. It wasn’t even cleaning up afterwards – although Megatron did sterilize the chair itself three times, the first two times out of necessity, but the third simply for his mental comfort. No. The hardest part of the ‘incident’, Megatron discovered, was the disturbingly cavalier manner in which Rodimus treated it.

“Come on, Megs.” Rodimus groaned. “You’re not still mad about the Brainstorm thing? It’s practically a tradition.”

“A _tradition_?” Megatron exclaimed.

“Er.” Rodimus’ gaze flicked to the side for a moment. “No. What? Did I say tradition? I meant _sedition_. Yes I know what that word means.”

But Megatron would not be sidetracked. “This has happened _before_?”

Rodimus waved a hand dismissively. “No? Pfft. That’s crazy talk.” He then seemed to think of something, and chuckled to himself. “But like, for future reference, never leave two bots on the bridge alone if you think they…”

Rodimus winked suggestively and made an inappropriate gesture. Megatron gaped, unable to speak through utter disgust.

“Surely our crewmembers have a more self-control than that.” Megatron asked, a little pleadingly. He didn’t want it to be true.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Megs.” Rodimus shrugged, and propped his hands on his hips. “What? Didn’t you have Decepticons who got off on-“

“ _Don’t_. Finish that sentence.” Megatron held out a hand to cut him off. “No – don’t. I know you’re about to say something obscene.”

Rodimus synthesized a rude, raspberry sound. “Whatever, _Dad_.”

Before Megatron could question the strange organic term, an alert sounded from the communication systems of the bridge. Rodimus graciously stepped back and waved Megatron towards the captain’s chair.

Megatron shot his best glare at the other bot. Rodimus only grinned.

Gingerly, and trying very hard not to think about where it had been, Megatron lowered himself into the captain’s chair to answer the communication alert. The seat was a little wobblier than the last time he had sat in it. As soon as he realized the implications of this, Megatron immediately forgot them, and did his best to forget he’d ever noticed anything. Of _course_ the chair had always been this wobbly.

Behind him, Rodimus snorted. Megatron stiffly ignored it. He accepted the incoming call.

“Megatron of the Lost Light.” The Lab Rador queen-councilor greeted him. “And Rodimus, I see. I am calling because of my ambassador. She has an inquiry.”

“Of course.” Megatron nodded. The aliens bore themselves with a certain dignity. It was easy to imagine them setting up a week’s worth of boring presentations. Because of this, Megatron had exceptional difficulty reconciling the fact that they were also very, very responsible for Magnus’ situation.

On screen, the queen stepped aside, and a smaller alien nodded in greeting.

“It’s Magnus.” The ambassador came right to the point. “He seemed… not himself. When he left the planet. I was only worried that he had been unduly affected by the-“

“Allergies!” Megatron cut her off before the entire bridge could learn of what had unduly affected Magnus. “Allergies. As it turns out, all Cybertronians are allergic to… your welcome gift.”

“Allergies.” The alien gave him a look that said very clearly that she didn’t believe this for a second, but understood why Megatron was lying. "I see." She neatly folded all four of her arms behind her back. "In that case, the proper protocol for such a-"

“What’s this?” Rodimus interrupted. The co-captain looked back and forth from the ambassador to Megatron, an expression of inquisitive excitement on his face. “Magnus is sick?”

“ _Was_ sick.” Megatron corrected. “But if you are concerned for his wellbeing, I assure you it was not life-threatening-“

“Oh, I _was_ worried, but mostly now I’m just curious.” Rodimus said, with refreshing honesty. “Come on, Megs! I’ve been making up a thousand theories; I need to know what it actually was! But you’re seriously telling me Magnus has been locked up in his room alone because he’s _sick_?”

“And we are terribly sorry to hear it.” The ambassador came to Megatron’s rescue. He shot her a grateful look.

The queen held up a segmented hand. “In light of this news, for future Cybertronian guests – what would you suggest we use in place of our traditional welcome gift?”

“Hm.” Megatron thought for a moment. “Slow dancing.”

For some reason, the answer felt right.

A quiet smile broke over the ambassador’s face. “Y-ess.” She said. “I believe we can make that work.”

“Hmm.” The queen hummed and shuffled her wings. “Well, I suppose it’s not _that_ different from tradition. It’s intimate. Fun. But surely something more active would be-”

“Darling.” The ambassador put a hand on the queen’s wings, forcibly stilling them. “We can make it work.”

The Rador queen stalled and stared at her wife. The ambassador began to rub little circles into the queen’s wings. “Yes. Yes, alright.” The queen said, eventually, not breaking eye contact. “Er, Megatron of the Lost Light – thank you. For your suggestion. Er. Please let Ultra Magnus know we appreciate his contributions in regards to currency, and that we are, uh, sorry to have inconvenienced him. And. Should the Lost Light ever return to Lab Rador. It would be – hmm – very welcome.”

“Thank you. We are incredibly grateful.” Megatron nodded, and the distracted queen-councilor ended the call before he had even finished the sentence.

Megatron tapped a finger against the arm of the captain’s chair. In the past, doubt had been an unfamiliar emotion – whenever it had raised its head, he had repressed it extremely thoroughly – but now it seemed to haunt his every moment. Would this decision have a negative impact on the Rador culture? Would his suggestion be perceived as alien meddling by alternate factions on-planet? Megatron looked out into the star-filled void, and doubted.

“Megs. Megsy. Megatron!”

“Hm?” Megatron became aware of Rodimus, who, after a while, had become background noise - and as such was now very irate. “Oh, I apologize. What were you saying?”

“Magnus, duh.” Rodimus rolled his optics. “What’d they try to do to him?”

“I suppose we shall never know.” Megatron said, airily. “As poor Magnus was affected rather badly. First Aid was quite worried about him.”

“Yeah hahaha.” Rodimus chuckled in a disbelieving manner. “Sure. You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they infected him with some kind of – I don’t know. Sex pollen, or something.”

Megatron fixed Rodimus with his best glare, in order to indicate that this latest theory was as ridiculous as all the others. Internally, he cursed his co-captain's perceptiveness.

“Uh, that look doesn’t work on me any more?” Rodimus scoffed. “Find something new. And yeah nah, I like my ‘possession’ theory better. Sex pollen – those guys? Really? It’s basically planet boring. They dedicated a week to goddamn _politics_ , after all. Magnus probably had a ball.”

And at the end of that week, Megatron thought, they had hosted a party of uninhibited lunacy and madcap hedonism. That was to say, their uptight repression had found an outlet…

“I bet they think slow-dancing is downright scandalous.” Rodimus said, a little gleefully. “Not like us Cybertronians, hey Megs? It _is_ a comfy chair, isn’t it…”

Megatron stood up as though the captain’s chair had become red-hot. “If you are cleared medically, I suggest you take the next shift. Unfortunately, Magnus will need some time to recover.”

“Sure, sure.” Rodimus sat back in the recently vacated chair as though it’s history did not bother him one iota. “Nah, that’s alright. When you see him, tell Mags he’s got nothing to worry about.”

Megatron faltered in his exit. “Who said I was going to visit Magnus?”

Rodimus gave him a hard look. Throughout most of the conversation, Rodimus had been jovial, friendly. But now his features sharpened, as if coming into focus, and he gave Megatron a very serious look indeed.

“Every time someone says his name.” Rodimus said. “You smile.”

Megatron covered his mouth, but Rodimus waved airily. “It’s not obvious. I only noticed because like, I know you. And I know Magnus too, and for some reason he actually _likes_ you. There’s no accounting for taste with some bots.”

Megatron let his hand fall, and narrowed his eyes defensively. “Your point?”

“How does Magnus put it? Oh yeah…” Rodimus gave Megatron his trademark, blinding grin. “Screw up and I will demolish you.”

“Er, yes.” Megatron’s throat had gone very dry. “I believe Ten already mentioned something along those lines.”

Rodimus frowned. "Mentioned...?"

"Well, not as such. But he did give me an extremely firm handshake." Megatron cleared his throat and looked away. "At any rate, I'll keep it in mind."

“Awesome.” Rodimus gave Megatron double finger-guns. “Catch you round.”

The last Megatron saw of Rodimus, his co-captain was fiddling with the wobbly chair, and frowning.

“Even Drift and I never _broke_ it, what the hell.” He muttered. “ _Brainstorm_ and _Perceptor_. Who knew they had it in them…?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter *eyes emoji*


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay… minimegs isn’t the horniest ship lol, they’re like, the old men of the lost light… but come on okay minimus needs some tender loving and it’s a SEX POLLEN FIC!! they gotta!! it’s the law!!! im real sorry if nsfw aint ur thing tho lol
> 
> also here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGJTaP6anOU :)

Minimus opened his door within seconds of Megatron knocking, and then coughed and tried to pretend he hadn’t been so eager.

“Minimus.” Megatron said. “I received your invitation.”

“Yes. Do come in.” Minimus said. “I have a wide selection of music we could listen to.”

Megatron had a unique way of saying Minimus’ name. Some bots said it in a shifty, guilty way. A familiar ' _Minimus, so you’re not locked away in your room anymore? Good to hear, cool, cool, don’t worry, absolutely nothing illegal whatsoever happening here_ ’ kind of way.

But Megatron said it in a serious,  _fond_ manner; as though he was honestly pleased to see Minimus there. The hab-suite door slid closed behind the other bot, and they sat opposite each other in their usual arrangement.

“Forgive me.” Megatron said, after a long comfortable silence. “If I might speak personally…”

“Please do.”

Megatron gave him a brief, half-smile before continuing. “I am... rather fond of you. And it has been rather heavily impressed upon me that I am not going to live forever, so… I suppose what I’m trying to say, is…”

“I feel the same.” Minimus blurted out. Megatron’s head snapped up to look at him, and his optics flared. Minimus awkwardly hurried to reiterate. “I mean! In regards to what I might want from a relationship. It is simply that I want to…”

“Make the most of the time we have?”

Minimus smiled, a little helplessly. “Exactly.”

Megatron smiled back. There was music. When had that happened? It was instrumental at the moment, but Minimus knew this particular playlist. The last track on the list was one of his favourite vocal songs. Verity had recommended it quite enthusiastically.

Suddenly, Megatron drew in a deep breath, and stood up.

“In the interests of making the most of the time we have left.” Megatron crossed the room regally, bowed low, and put one hand out to Minimus. “Might I have this dance?”

Minimus covered his mouth with one hand, lest he accidentally laugh at the ;silliness of the gesture. “I will _not_ be dragged about in some mockery of a waltz, with my feet off the ground.”

Using mass-displacement Megatron shrunk to a size that, while still significantly taller than Minimus, was now a more appropriate height. He did not say anything, but kept his hand out. Minimus eyed it and wrung his mouth down at the corners to stave off a smile. It did not work.

“I suppose.” Minimus acquiesced. He stood up, and faced Megatron in the appropriate manner. One hand was placed over Megatron’s shoulder, and the other into Megatron’s offered palm. The Autobot regarded him with affectionate contemplation. Happiness swelled up in Minimus’ spark again, irrepressibly. He turned his head aside to hide his glowing face.

Megatron held him carefully, tightly, and when the song was right, they moved together.

“I’m not very good at this.” Minimus fretted.

“Nonsense. Besides, I am as experienced as you.” Megatron assured him. “And I believe we're doing quite well.”

“Thank you for saying so.” Minimus said, as was the proper response to a compliment, while internally his circuits buzzed with helpless energy.

It was nothing like the careless fun that Minimus had witnessed on the Lab Rador planet. It was quiet, restrained, each step measured and taken together. Minimus felt quite secure in the other bot's arms - Megatron all but enveloped him.

“You know, I don't believe I mentioned, but the Rador called.” Megatron mused. “They wanted to know how you were handling their… gift.”

“Er." Minimus said, uncomfortably. "They didn’t say what their gift was out in front of the whole bridge, did they?”

“I ensured that they did not. And I proposed an alternative activity for future… gifts.”

“What did you suggest?”

Megatron chuckled. “Slow-dancing.”

Megatron spun him around, quite wonderfully, and Minimus reveled in the motion, in the unspoken physical dialogue. At a rise in the song, they would move with a controlled intensity that befitted the music, and at a fall they would be muted and more fluid. It was... the word escaped him.

At the song’s end, Megatron swung Minimus around, spun him under one arm, and pulled him close. Minimus was vaguely aware that he was smiling, pressed to Megatron’s chest, and breathing a little hard from the exertion.

“...You’re beautiful.” Megatron said, haltingly, but sincerely.

Minimus’ optics widened. The compliment had confounded him. “Hm. Uh. Thank you.”

Megatron was still holding him close around his waist. Minimus relaxed a little into Megatron’s hold, and the other bot supported his weight with delightful ease. Yet for all his leisure there was still a slight, exited anxiousness, a tremble underneath Minimus’ plating.

“Minimus, are you alright?” Megatron asked.

“I am merely… a little restless.” Minimus said, and turned his face aside to hide his flustered expression.

The larger bots’ systems whirred. Minimus could feel the heat of – Primus – Megatron’s spark, where their chests were pressed together. How delicate, how vulnerable! This small detail filled Minimus with a tangle of overwhelming emotions.

“Restless.” Megatron murmured. He was quite near, now that Minimus came to think about it. If he were to go on tiptoe, or if Megatron were to tilt his head down just so, they would be kissing.

“Exactly.” Minimus hummed along to the next song. “We could keep dancing…”

“If it would help.” Megatron said, overly casually, and something in the tone or pitch of his voice made Minimus take pause.

“Hmm.” Minimus said, a little awkwardly, after a long while. “Or perhaps you could stay a little longer. It’s entirely up to you, of course…”

“That would be perfectly acceptable.” Megatron said, almost before Minimus had finished his sentence.

“How did you find those Lab Rador data-pads, after our discussions?” Minimus said, in an attempt to apply some manner of respectability to the conversation – despite the obvious conclusion that it was driving towards.

“Wonderful. You cleared up a lot of things for me.” Megatron said.

“Well, that’s good to hear. It _was_ quite a fascinating mission, regardless of the unfortunate ending. ”Minimus cleared his throat. “It was quite strange to be on a planet where joy is the natural state of being.”

Megatron was still holding his hand, and the large bot squeezed it gently. “I can imagine.” 

“Indeed. I know they only set out to accommodate happiness – but it was rather distressing, all the same, to feel constantly as though it was being forced upon me.”

“Ah.” Megatron said. “That would be where we would need to adjust their strategies for our own use.”

“We would need to encourage happiness that comes from within-.”

“-Rather than impose it upon the populace.”

“Exactly.”

They swayed together a moment longer. Minimus was hyper-aware of every point of contact between them. The slow movement wasn't particularly active, or exiting, and yet it was... it was... he simply couldn't think of the word for it.

Most of the ship was quiet, and the background hum of the Lost Light engines was more muted. Most bots were off-shift, now. Only the music kept them company.

“ _Wise men say… only fools rush in…”_ The console sung. “ _But I can’t help_ …”

Wordlessly, Megatron let go of Minimus’ waist, and repositioned his hand to rest on Minimus’ shoulder. Minimus did not easily tolerate touch, but this he did not mind. The steady pressure was warm and grounding.

“ _Shall I stay… Would it be a sin…?”_

“If I…” Minimus sung, under his breath, “Can’t help…”

“ _Falling in love… with you…”_

Megatron’s breath caught. Minimus flushed. He nervously dared a glance up at the other bot. Megatron looked, to his surprise, completely stupefied. His red optics were blazing.

Fun! That was the word. Minimus felt relieved - had he not remembered, it would have annoyed him to no end. He smiled up at Megatron contently.

Megatron’s optics flickered. This was all the warning Minimus had before, in a single smooth movement, Megatron tilted his head and leaned in to kiss him thoroughly.

Minimus’ breath left him in a rush. Megatron kissed him like he truly meant it, like he intended to do so over and over again. The appreciation, the sheer _affection_ of the gesture was made evident in the tender way Megatron that cradled the back of his helm. Megatron broke contact, before peppering small, trembling kisses across Minimus’ cheek, leaving tingling warmth on the plating in his wake.

“ _Oh_.” Minimus said, once he could breathe. This seemed to succinctly summarize his emotional state.

“Hmm.” Megatron shivered, and his movements stalled briefly. “Primus, Minimus, what you do to me…”

“Mmm?” Minimus said, proving quite irrefutably that whatever he was doing to Megatron, Megatron was doing it to him as well, and a great deal better. His spark inside him felt liquid, melted, and far too large for his frame. 

“For I can’t help…” Megatron didn’t sing the words. It was half a hum, half-whisper. Minimus suspected that the other bot, secretly, could not really sing.

“ _Falling in love… with you.”_ The melody finished.

It was too sweet, too perfect. It was at odds with the large and potentially disastrous fact that occupied Minimus’ mind: that he had no idea how this – them – was going to work. An awkward and absurd future loomed.

“I must warn you.” Minimus said. “I haven’t ever – er, that is, I’ve not done this sort of thing in a while.”

“We can relearn together.” Megatron reassured him with a fond look. Without warning, Minimus’ spark stuttered. He did not react, he did not cry out - spark palpitations were not an unusual occurrence when Megatron looked at him.

Minimus stammered. “I am – Uh. Well, in that case, you needn’t…” Minimus halted mid-sentence, and regretted it. He had spoken without thinking – how irresponsible! – and was now left with a sentence fragment. How he hated leaving sentences unfinished.

“…Leave so soon?” Megatron finished, hopefully.

Minimus smiled in relief. “ _Exactly_.”

Megatron leant in incredibly slowly. It seemed to take an eon. As such, when he finally pressed his lips to Minimus’, Minimus was so keyed up that his engine turned over in an embarrassing mechanical stutter. He had never experienced anything quite like this. There was _arousal_ running through his wires, exquisite and frustrating. His frame was hot, and Megatron’s was hotter, pulled close to his.

It was impossible to experience every little thing, but Minimus tried. He tried to savor it. Megatron had one hand on his neck and was brushing against the cables there, little touches that made Minimus shiver and whimper into Megatron’s mouth.

Every involuntary noise only inspired Megatron further. He hesitantly ran a hand down Minimus’ side, and when he responded, more confidently rubbed over the biolights there. Minimus arched into the touch and threw his hands over Megatron’s shoulders to pull him in, kiss him harder. The soft press of his lips was almost _unbearable_. Minimus never wanted it to end.

But then it did. Megatron drew back. Minimus braced his hands against Megatron’s chest, while the other bot stared down at him with awe.

“Perhaps,” Megatron panted around the words. “We should take this to the berth?”

Minimus flushed at the question, and traced the cables under Megatron’s helm with one hand. Megatron swayed a little closer to Minimus at the contact, but then recovered himself.

“Minimus.” Megatron said, an edge of desperation to his deep tones.

It was painfully awkward to say it. Minimus looked away before voicing the shameful desire. “Such a location _would_ be more appropriate.” 

Megatron picked him up. He was being lifted - _lifted,_ as though he weighed nothing. Minimus felt as though his spark would send the rest of his frame up in flames. Megatron carried him easily, and laid him back on the berth.

“Megatron.” Minimus complained, although his voice was filled with static. “Was that really necessary?”

“It was.” Megatron said.

“How so?”

Megatron lay beside Minimus, and half-arched over him. “It was necessary in that I wanted to.”

“A motive alone does not make a course of action necessary.” Minimus grumbled, petulant.

“Motivation is vital.” Megatron disagreed, and trailed a hand over Minimus’ neck to rest along his jaw. “For example, what is your motivation for believing the best of me?”

“Of everyone.” Minimus corrected.

“Minimus.”

“It is part of the Code.” Minimus said, and sighed when Megatron gave him a serious look. “I want to. Is that not enough?”

“It is more than I deserve.” Megatron’s optics were dim, and he began to rub his thumb in little circles across Minimus’ cheek. “I don’t know. I’ve been doubting myself, of late…”

“That is _good_.” Minimus said, firmly. “Where would we be if leaders always assumed they were right?”

“I suppose it is impossible for only one person to be in possession of all the facts.” Megatron admitted, ruefully.

“We can only do our best with the knowledge we have.” Minimus agreed.

Before he could think better of it, he reached up for Megatron’s face. It was no effort at all to pull him down closer. It was a thrill to feel the power and strength of the other bot beneath his touch, yet to also feel him obey.

“Why, Minimus?” Megatron’s words were a little blurry. The other bot’s lips barely moved. “What is your motivation, that you would face the multitude of risks involved with – being involved with me?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Minimus said, at the same volume, but rather distracted by Megatron’s hand drifting down his neck. “What could you hope to gain?”

“No, no.” Megatron corrected. “The question is ‘what can’t I stand to lose’? And the answer, well…” His voice became inaudible. 

“Pardon?” Minimus said. He had missed the last part.

But Megatron only dimmed his optics and kissed them both into silence, With one hand he trailed lightly over rapidly warming metal: until little shivers ran across the surface of Minimus’ plating, until Minimus had nearly forgotten that a question had been asked.

“Minimus, I…” Megatron shook his head again. “You are incredibly important to me.”

“I understand.” Minimus said. Three words welled up behind his vocalizer, and got stuck. He cleared his throat. “You are incredibly important to me as well.”

The divulgence was too much. Minimus’ frame was hot all over. Waves of heat and electricity ran in delightful shimmering lines where Megatron kept touching, and teasing, and raising his internal temperature to almost boiling point-

And finally, _finally_ , his fans clicked on. Megatron gave a satisfied sigh, and Minimus flushed in distress.

“Are you all right?” Megatron murmured, right against his temple. Minimus couldn’t quite summon a reply. Megatron waited patiently, one finger running steaming lines down the transformation seam of- of- _oh-_ just above, frustratingly close to his paneling.

Minimus recovered enough processing capacity to reply by focusing all of his self-control onto the vocalizer in his throat. He mentally gripped it against the soft and inexorable wave of heady pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

“Completely.” Minimus said, and was proud of the way his voice did not quaver at all.

But in focusing all his attention on his vocalizer, Minimus realized he had made a tactical error. He was unfocused. And so when Megatrons hand slid lower and cupped the outside of his thigh, Minimus pressed into the touch.

Megatron raised himself up in a smooth motion, and arched completely over him. Minimus' fans gave this action their full approval.

“S-“ Minimus had to focus to speak again. “S-slow down.”

Megatron hummed and obeyed, leaned forward across Minimus’ neck and left his legs alone. He took Minimus’ hands and guided them to his chest. Minimus felt awkward about touching the grey metal – he made slow, hesitant circles with his thumbs for a moment and then stopped, unsure – but Megatron encouraged him with a kiss to his neck, to his cheek-

There was a wordless moment where they simply looked at each other. Then, Megatron kissed Minimus on the lips gently.

It lit up every circuit in his frame; it sent every other thought out of his mind. Minimus felt his consciousness fading and tried to regain control – tried to resume some sort of order in the thrilling mess. The hot delicate press – oh, in the untouched, soft corners of his mouth – Minimus opened to it sincerely, yet self-consciously.

Minimus was exploring the seams of Megatron’s chest absentmindedly. He had not realized. Trailing his hands down the side made Megatron groan into his mouth, and the sound sent a hot strumming note down the centre of Minimus’ gut, like a shot. Hesitantly, he found the place again, pressed harder, and Megatron keened helplessly. Minimus lost the last shreds of control that had been tormenting him.

“Megatron.” Minimus pulled away reluctantly. “You can- do what you were doing, before.”

“Hm?” Megatron looked down on him with dim optics, and smiled, the bastard. “What was that?”

“You can-“ Minimus glared sullenly at the other bot. “ _You_ know.”

“I’m afraid you will have to say it.”

Minimus turned his head aside, and choked out the words in a tiny voice. “Touch me. Lower.”

This small admission was a heavy effort. Minimus would _not_ be repeating himself. It was far too distressing to voice such things. Things such as, perhaps, the desire for Megatron to touch him again – to pull apart his thighs, perhaps, to, to – Minimus’ mind supplied a number of unhelpful fantasies, prompted by the way Megatron was looking at him.

And oh, Primus, the way he was looking at him.His optics burning, suddenly serious, focused. Megatron was dark above him, hot and whirring heavily with the force of his cooling fans, and he was putting all his focused attention onto Minimus. Minimus all but melted under his ruby gaze for the softness in it. The tenderness. The helpless desire held back through phenomenal restraint.

“As you command.” Megatron said, his voice soft and low, and complied with terrible gentleness.

Minimus had to put a hand to his mouth and bite down on a knuckle. Megatron palmed the outside of his thighs again, seeking out the sensitive parts of the metal and brushing against them lightly, sending tingles throughout his interface array and making Minimus twitch.

“That is- good.” Minimus assured Megatron, lest the bot think to stop.

“I’m not hurting you?” Megatron asked, worried.

“ _No_.” Minimus said. Megatron smiled up at him warmly, briefly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

Feeling guilty for not contributing, Minimus dipped into the metal seams of Megatron’s shoulders and traced the intersection between the separate parts.

Megatron let out a low groan as Minimus found a stressed tangle of wires in between the seams of his back kibble. He pressed up into Minimus’ touch with incredible, controlled strength. Minimus rubbed against the stressed tangle, pulled out the cables and realigned them. He smoothed over the final relaxed result. Megatron gave a full body quiver of satisfaction, and his engine rumbled a spark-deep growl of appreciation that vibrated against the entirety of Minimus’ frame.

Megatron leant his head down. “May I?” He asked, and his breath was warm on Minimus’ midsection. Under his panels, Minimus felt a response in the lower area of his interface array. Primus, he hoped he was not leaking through the transformation seams.

“Yes.” Minimus said. “Oh, yes.”

Megatron lifted his legs apart – as Minimus had imagined, as he had wanted him to – and trailed both hands simultaneously up the insides of his sprawled thighs. Minimus did not lift himself into the touch, and he did not moan, and he trembled with the force of not doing so.

“Are you sure?” Megatron said, teasing, looking up at Minimus with that adoring red gaze – Minimus turned his head to the side out of embarrassment and pride – and Megatron explored the cable-filled gap between thigh and panel with one hand.

“Megatron.” Minimus said, a hint of warning in his tone, and Megatron pressed an apologetic kiss to the burning metal of his panel.

‘ _This is just a suggestion, but…_ ’

Minimus considered it for a moment, and then gave a sigh of surrender.

It slid open with a click.

“Oh-“ Minimus said, mortified, and then when Megatron kissed the under-stimulated soft metal of his valve- “O _-oh!_ ”

Megatron’s engine revved at his cry, and he stroked the wet folds with the flat of his tongue almost reverently, shamelessly, and Minimus couldn’t help but reach out to grip Megatron’s shoulders. He felt completely undignified. And yet, he was caught between wanting to spread himself wider – oh, Megatron, with all his intensity, focused on the sole act of giving Minimus pleasure – and wanting to close his thighs over Megatron’s head, to pin him there, to grind against him mindlessly-

The thoughts and fantasies scandalized Minimus even as they aroused him, and coupled with the continuous slow sweeps of Megatron’s tongue, he whimpered helplessly and arched into the contact. Each stroke sent a shock of lust up his spine to make his processor buzz and go numb. His engine was purring.

He spread his legs wider.

“Ah!” Minimus gasped as Megatron took the opportunity to press into Minimus’ valve ring. Minimus pulled away from it, at first, at which Megatron drew back as well. But then deeper within, Minimus became aware of an empty spot that cried out to be touched – and he tilted his hips back up into the contact with an embarrassed, muffled cry.

Just when Minimus was beginning to affect some control, Megatron hummed. The vibration turned Minimus’ poor processor into a metaphorical train-wreck.

“Unfair.” Minimus gasped out. “That’s – oh!”

Megatron broke away with a lewd, wet noise, and Minimus flinched in embarrassment.

“Are you alright?” Megatron asked, as he teased the cable gap between thigh and panel again, finding the sensitive, delicate cords that he had sought out before, and plucked little whimpers from the prone Minimus.

“I-I am f-fine.” Minimus vocalizer buzzed with an underlying static crackle, with poorly hidden arousal. Megatron smiled at the sound.

“I'm glad to hear it.” Megatron said. The bot seemed about to say something else as well, but then bit his lip. "I... nevermind. Perhaps this isn't the time."

“Pardon?” Minimus was proud of the lack of static. His control over his hips lapsed, however, and his words were accompanied by an averted twitch. Megatron’s hand moved to the top of the paneling and began to trace circles, with the first two fingers.

“I'm sorry. May I?” Megatron asked, politely.

“Oh, Primus.” Minimus whimpered, and clutched at Megatron’s shoulders. The circles drifted lower, closer to Minimus’ exterior node. He panted as waves of electricity and heat rippled out from the incredible contact.

“Minimus, I…” Megatron lost a little of his control and placed his lips to the inside of his right thigh. He crushed them softly to the sensitive metal and screwed up his eyes, repressed intensity of – some nameless emotion. 

If Minimus had been a bolder bot, he might have called it love.

“Megatron.” Minimus answered, and leaned up to caress his cheek. Megatron tipped his head into the gesture, and looked up at Minimus with open adoration.

And then he brushed his fingers lightly over Minimus’ exterior node. Minimus fell back with a noiseless shout, and arched, shaking, at a pleasure so intense it strung time out into a shivering eternity, an endless perfect moment.

Minimus returned, gasping for breath, after who knew how long.

Megatron was still watching him with dim optics, a small smile on his face. At Minimus’ attention he leaned down, maintaining eye contact, and directly kissed his exterior node. An engine rumbled. His? Megatron’s? Did it matter? The sensation was wonderful, amazing, but – it wasn’t enough. Minimus whimpered.

“Megatron, I…” Minimus began. “Could you…?”

“What?”

“ _You_ know.”

Megatron’s optics went wide. ““You would have me?” He turned aside, a little flushed, and hid his face against Minimus’ thigh. His lips brushed against the metal as he spoke. “You would have me, despite everything. You would trust me with such an act?”

Minimus reached out and caught Megatron by the chin, and turned him away from the inside of his leg to better face him. The other bot’s face was wet with lubricant. Before his eyes, Megatron licked his lips, and Minimus shuddered with molten arousal.

“I would.” Minimus said, and would have said more, but while he was carefully choosing his words Megatron rose up as sudden as a tidal wave, to embrace Minimus completely-

_Oh._

When had Megatron opened his panel? His spike brushed against the folds of Minimus’ dripping valve, and his fans roared at the contact, at the meaning behind it.

But first Megatron lowered his mouth to Minimus’ neck, and worried at the metal. The blaze of his spark inside his chest, so intense, only barely distracted Minimus from the sensation. And then Megatron dropped his hand, and pressed two fingers into his entrance.

“ _Oh_.” Minimus said, which covered it all pretty well.

The tips of Megatron’s fingers were so good, so very good, just pressing inside but promising more. He drew out, and then slid back into his valve, hot and aching, and Minimus left paint transfers on Megatron’s chest where he had gripped it. He was powerfully overcome - more by the debauched nature of the action, however, than by the actual sensation itself.

Megatron tried to draw away. Minimus chased his mouth, pressing kisses to the corner, along his jaw. 

“Megatron- Ah!”

Megatron’s teeth scraped against a cable as he bent his head to nibble lightly at Minimus' neck-

“Hnnn- Meg-“

His fingers slid in, and out, and his valve fluttered hungrily around them-

“ _Megatron!”_

Finally, Megatron stopped, and drew back to lovingly examine what he had done to Minimus. He did not let up on his valve, thank Primus, but continued to brush against his sensitive internal nerves and circuitry, building up a wave of arousal in the distance. Minimus was radiating heat, and his fans were going so fast as to be almost a scream. 

“Can I-“ Megatron choked, overcome by static. “Oh, Minimus, will you let me-?”

His spike was still out, straining upward. Transfluid was leaking from the tip already.

“What?” Minimus attempted to tease the other bot. “You will ha - ah! - have to be more specific–!”

The expression of raw lust on Megatron’s face made the teasing attempt worth it.

“Please-“ Megatron groaned, and his fingers stuttered, slowed. “Minimus, _please_ -“

“Ah! Hnn – please, what?” Minimus said, maintaining his composure with all his remaining strength of will.

Megatron looked down on him with helpless affection, powerfully restrained desire.

“Please let me spike you.” He whispered. His frame was flushed and steaming.

“Yes.” Minimus said, and pulled Megatron’s head down onto his neck. “ _Oh_ , oh, oh Primus, yes.”

He surrendered to a lack of shame Megatron entered him slowly. The bot stopped far too often, and for far too long. Minimus squirmed and convulsed underneath him, but Megatron pinned him still, crushed him to the berth with a gentle kiss. Minimus spread his legs around Megatron’s hips as the other bot brought his spike deep within him, and then stayed there, panting, as Minimus adjusted to the length.

Minimus clung tight to Megatron’s shoulders and inexpertly tried to clench around it. It took a phenomenal amount of willpower to move through the pink haze of arousal clogging his processor, but if nothing else, Minimus was determined. He tried to control it – tried to ripple the inside of his valve, as he had heard was possible – but he did not think he succeeded. Nevertheless, it made Megatron let out a long, raw groan. The sound went to Minimus’ internal mechanisms, a hot gut pulse that hit him with a sudden wave of desire. He bit back a similar noise.

“You are _exquisite_.” Megatron gasped out, and aborted a motion of his hips. The controlled power in it thrilled him. “I don't - I have no words - nrgh! - for what you do to me.”

“Megatron I- I- I would trust you. With my.” Minimus tried to reply, but the words eluded him. He spread his thighs a little more, and tucked his legs behind Megatron to pull the other bot closer. 

 

Megatron leaned down to kiss him again, desperately, uncoordinated, undignified. He drew back a moment later and left Minimus’ lips tingling.

 

Exquisite molten jets of sensation swamped Minimus from that central point outwards. He was leaking, around the rim of his valve, and his excess lubricant was spilling onto the berth. Megatron was inside him, trembling, and Minimus could not understand why the other bot would not move.

He tried to ask him, but he was speechless with sensation. Megatron’s spike, hilt deep in Minimus’ valve, was so much. It was so good. And from his spark, an ache-impulse rose up, that it would only be better still if Megatron would only-

“ _Move_.” Minimus managed, and Megatron did.

Slowly at first, excruciatingly so - each stroke in drew a gasp from Minimus, and every time he drew out he mourned the loss – but then Megatron was sinking back into Minimus again, and biting at his lip to hold back some noise or other. Minimus pressed himself onto it, gasping. He pulled down Megatron and kissed him again.

He tried to pour all of his feelings into it. Gratitude, appreciation, desire. Minimus moaned into Megatron’s mouth as the other bot thrust into him again, and again.

“I can’t-“ Megatron said, against his lips. “I- damn. Oh, Minimus, I...”

"With my spark." Minimus gasped out. "I would trust you with my spark."

“Oh, Minimus-“ Megatron said, in a small, broken voice. Minimus pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, and another, and then he was kissing him again properly, helpless to resist. Three words ran through his mind in a loop, like a chant.

Minimus’ calipers fluttered, throbbed, and Megatron’s spike was deliciously hard and firm, sliding out, and then in again. His valve accepted the length of it eagerly, but Megatron was nothing but gentle. He did not slam into Minimus, he did not drive him wide open and ruthlessly _frag_ him, he did not go faster. The fantasies made Minimus dizzy, beyond dizzy, and Megatron drew out slowly. Minimus bit back another humiliating sound.

“ _Please_.” Minimus begged. His face felt like it was on fire.

Megatron impaled him slowly one more time, sliding home with incredible controlled desire. Minimus clenched around it in an instinctive rythmn.

“Primus.” Megatron gasped. “An _honor_. Primus, Minimus, you don't know how much I…”

“Nnn.” Minimus answered. “Megatron, _harder_ -“

And as though he had been only waiting for the word, Megatron thrust up into Minimus’ sturdy loadbearer frame with all his restrained power. It felt good. It felt incredibly, fantastically good. Minimus found himself gasping Megatron’s name over and over, begging him to go _faster, more_ -

And Megatron groaned and obeyed, jerking his hips against Minimus’ with the crash of metal. The entirety of the slide, in and out, was enough to make Minimus grope the sides of Megatron’s chest and find that spot, the one that had made the other bot moan, before. It made him moan again. The sound made Minimus’ entire frame light up.

Megatron’s thrusts increased in speed, perfectly, and energon was throbbing in Minimus’ head to deafen him completely. His frame was completely burning up, coolant evaporated in the air between them, and wave after wave of delicious pleasure overcame him. Megatron was _fragging_ him, finally, and it was amazing –

“I’m- gonna- nnngh!” Megatron timed his exhaled words between sharp thrusts.

Minimus was in far worse condition. He was saying something, he knew, but he couldn’t hear it. He only knew that it was something to the effect of please, yes, inside me, trust you-

And Megatron arched over Minimus to crush his lips to his neck, and gripped his hips, and came inside him in several hard, shuddering thrusts.

The feeling of transfluid hitting the inside of his valve, so hot, sent Minimus over the edge as well. All the pleasure that had been building up – the mountain, the wave, rushed over him with a full-frame mind numbing explosion of pure pleasure. In the wrecking, he could for some reason, only focus on the gentle kisses Megatron was peppering down the side of his face as he panted and burned for air. The pleasure was incredible, amazing, and finally it really was _too much-_

And Minimus wrapped his arms around Megatrons neck and leaned up to kiss the other bot as-

His brain went white.

Lines of data ticked past in a constant stream. Temperature, lighting, texture, color - sensory data filed past in equal relevance with memory data. What had happened?

Minimus’ processer buzzed. White noise. His sensory systems rebooted, and he became aware of his surroundings again.

He had his back to the floor. Or a wall? No, there was the gravity reading, rebooting. Minimus was lying back. He was on his berth.

Minimus was mildly overwhelmed by the rush of data, the thousands of mental notes associated with everything he could see. The history of it all. The purpose, the meaning. But then the rest of his processing systems kicked in and he was able to sort it all properly.

Megatron was talking - above? Around him? Minimus was wrapped up in the other bot's arms.

“ _All of you lies open unto me_ ,” Megatron said, in that ardent, soft voice.

“ _A meteor slides silently across the stars_

_It leaves a shining trail as your thoughts leave in me_

_As I slip into the folds of your sweetness, you_

_Slip into my spark and are lost in me_.”

Minimus spark gave a terrible throb. While still completely flustered, he was also profoundly moved. He felt as though he was floating on air. “I – what?” He managed, rather eloquently. “I cannot say I’ve – hmm – heard that one.”

“Er." Megatron stiffened awkwardly. "You're awake?”

“It’s lovely.” Minimus said.

“Noted.” Megatron relaxed, and then said- “Thank you.”

Minimus recognized the phrasing: Megatron’s usual considerate reply to his memos. He felt as though he was about to cry.

Megatron was curved around his side. At some point, he had released his mass-displacement, and was now back to his normal size. He loosened his hold to observe Minimus in a worried manner. “Are you alright?”

Minimus surprised himself with a chuckle. “I’ve never – yes. I’m fine.”

He _was_ fine. Full-frame satisfaction warmed his circuits like syrup.

Megatron, however, looked completely undone. Minimus could see a heavy flush in his cheeks, and his optics were alight with some tender emotion, something that should have been illegal for how badly it made Minimus want to kiss him again.

The warm hum of Megatron's systems so close, enveloping him - it was oh, so lovely. Minimus sighed in satisfaction.

“I suppose we should thank the Rador.” Megatron said, dryly. “As they are responsible for this entire situation.”

“Absolutely not.” Minimus said. “To speak of this to them or anyone, would be, as Rodimus says: ‘too much information’.”

“Yes I know.” Megatron said. “I was making a joke.”

“I was going along with it.” Minimus smiled and looked up at Megatron.

“I know.” Megatron replied, softly. “Minimus, I- I wanted to tell you. I don’t know if this is the right time, but Minimus, I...“

“Megatron.” Minimus said, patiently. “What is it?”

“I love you.” Megatron said, and Minimus’ spark was on fire, and it was surely too big for his frame and-

“Oh.” Minimus said. Megatron had taken the words right out of his mouth. “Oh, yes. I love you, too. That's why, really, I want to believe the best of you...”

Megatron’s optics shone. "In the interest of honesty, I should say... that poem I recited..."

"Ah?" Minimus looked askance, and waited for Megatron to finish his sentence. When the bot still stalled, Minimus helped him along. "Who was the author?"

"You're too smart not to have guessed." Megatron admitted.

"I didn't want to assume such things..."

"I understand." Megatron murmured. "I've been working on more, if you'd like to hear them."

Minimus covered his mouth. "What? About - for - _me_?"

"Mmm." Megatron nodded, and pressed a kiss to the top of Minimus' helm. His breath caught.

Megatron affected him so deeply. Every time, the other bot always managed to affect him so deeply. And all of it - all the awkwardness, the distress - it was worth it for this one moment. Now. The present. Making the most of the time they had...

"That would be heaven." Minimus admitted, quietly. 

And, having said all that was required, Minimus let his head fall against Megatron’s chest, and listened to the intimate electric hum of the other bot’s spark. Relaxation pooled in his joints. Sleep sounded wonderful.

“Er.” Megatron said. “Perhaps we might want to have a shower?”

“Ah.” Minimus realized how messy he was, and shuddered. How hadn’t he noticed? “Good idea.”

A shower, then, first. And sleep afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR READING!!!!
> 
> also the poem megs "wrote" is an amalgamation of a couple of tennyson poems that i adapted... to be fair though they were already pretty perfect? just, space metaphors, and leaving your thoughts in another - like, that's spark-sex, right????? i barely had to change that bit!! (sorry alfred, it just fits so well lol)
> 
> ANYWAY I HOPE U ENJOYED ^^


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